


Rerun

by imalright



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Background Relationships, F/F, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Prophecy, background relationship: edeleth, background relationship: setleth, look everyone was reborn and wants to save the world i don't know what to tell you, modern-ish AU, there's two byleths it's fine, you find a conspiracy forum calling your professor a dictator wyd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22840465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imalright/pseuds/imalright
Summary: “Whoa,” Annette breathes out. She leans in closer to take in the masterpiece of design on the computer screen. “Is that..?”“It is,” Lysithea says. Annette can’t tell if her voice is dripping with venom or awe.The web page in front of them is simple; the words SAFE OR SCAM? head the page in bright, lime green; to the right is a photo of Headmaster Rhea with slits for pupils and long, long fangs. A counter underneath the header informs them they’re the 13,159th visitor.“This is nonsense.” Lysithea moves to return to the search results page but Annette’s quicker.“No!” she shouts. Her hand covers Lysithea’s and jerks the mouse far, far away from the back button. “I mean — don’t you think you should cover your bases? It’s always good to look at alternative perspectives so you can learn the most, and isn’t that what the internet’s all about?”In the hip year 1999, students attending the Officer's Academy at Garreg Mach discover a conspiracy, a war, and possibly the truth.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Lysithea von Ordelia, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 107
Kudos: 233





	1. Pilot

“You cannot be serious,” Lysithea’s aggravated voice cuts through the stale air of the school’s computer lab, simultaneously incredulous and exhausted. “This is it? Weeks of research and this is all the internet has to offer for my thesis?”

Annette rifles through a haphazard pile of books, pulling sticky notes from various pages and returning them when they don’t hold anything useful. She hums.

“There’s got to be more, what search terms are you using?” Annette asks. She leans over Lysithea’s shoulder and hums at the AskGreaves results. Pages like  _ Official Church of Seiros _ and  _ Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy: Enrollment _ display dully, some pages within those websites, and a couple she’s pretty sure aren’t safe to click on.

“I  _ know _ how to search,” Lysithea snaps, “I’ve tried all the terms I can think of and this is it. I mean, seriously? Hanneman keeps talking about the internet like it holds all the secrets to the universe but I could learn more from the junk mail this stupid school keeps sending to my house.”

“Well, what’s on the next page?” Annette asks, trying not to grit her teeth.

Lysithea clicks on  _ Next Page _ . There’s a few forums and blogs littered in with the results now.

“Ooh, try that!” Annette jabs her finger at the words  _ Safe Or Scam? _ underlined and blue. Lysithea snorts.

“Are you kidding me? I’ll get banned from the lab if I download a virus,” she snickers. Annette crosses her arms and huffs.

“Fine!” she snaps, “If you’re just gonna laugh at me when I try and help you, I’ll leave.”

“Wait, no!” Lysithea spins around in her chair and grabs Annette by the wrist before she can storm away. “Please, I’m sorry, I really need help. There’s not a lot of information and I have so much stuff to go through.”

“Hmph,” Annette  _ hmphs _ . “Fine. Don’t be so rude next time.”

“Yeah, okay, I won’t be.” She definitely will be. “Here, I’ll click on it. Will that make you happy?”

“No.”

“Well, that sucks.” Lysithea clicks on it. 

Nothing happens.

And then everything happens.

“Whoa,” Annette breathes out. They both lean in closer to take in the masterpiece of design on the computer screen. “Is that..?”

“It is,” Lysithea says. Annette can’t tell if her voice is dripping with venom or awe.

The web page in front of them is simple; the words  _ SAFE OR SCAM?  _ head the page in bright, lime green; to the right is a photo of Headmaster Rhea with slits for pupils and long, long fangs. A counter underneath the header informs them they’re the 13,159th visitor.

“This is nonsense.” Lysithea moves to return to the search results page but Annette’s quicker.

“No!” she shouts. Her hand covers Lysithea’s and jerks the mouse far, far away from the back button. “I mean — don’t you think you should cover your bases? It’s always good to look at alternative perspectives so you can learn the most, and isn’t that what the internet’s all about?”

Lysithea glares at her from the edge of her vision. “I don’t remember Hanneman saying anything like that.”

“That’s because  _ I _ said it.”

“Wow,” Lysithea groans, “I hate you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, buddy,” Annette says. She wrenches the mouse from Lysithea’s hand and scrolls. Dense paragraphs span across the entire screen, anchored on either side by graphics of unfamiliar white beasts.

> Most people consider the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach to be a state-of-the-art educational institution. A prestigious place to get an education and prepare for a bright future. However, some nefarious figures deign to use the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach as the anti-knowledge, the barrier against true enlightenment! An opportunity to control all of Fódlan from its ideal central location!

“This is a waste of time,” Lysithea declares. She attempts to steal the mouse back from Annette. Annette lifts it into the air, trapped only by the cord keeping it tethered to the computer.

“Shut up, this is amazing,” Annette hisses.

> Of their terrible Officers, the most devilish is none other than the “Headmaster Rhea”, herself. “Headmaster Rhea”, or Seiros, as the ancient texts refer to her, is an immortal being of the shadows bent on collecting power. Thousands of years ago she used her incredible abilities to bend the knee of the continent, bringing death to all who opposed her and securing her place as ruler of the country for nearly one thousand years. She rewrote history to frame herself as the savior of Fódlan and the daughter of the Ancient Goddess Sothis.
> 
> One thousand years into her rule of terror a single hero stood to liberate all of Fódlan: The Crimson Emperor, a woman said to tower over her enemies and crush them under her boot, declared war against the so-called “Church of Seiros” in a bid that would, ultimately, remove Seiros from power.

“Annette.”

“Shh!”

“Annette, this is so stupid. This has to be a joke.”

“No, this looks very legitimate,” Annette says, “I mean, just look at those fangs!”

“Anyone can edit fangs onto a picture.”

“No they can’t!”

“Yes! They can!”

“Those are definitely real.”

“No, they’re — ugh!” Lysithea moves to stand but she’s blocked in by Annette’s large, looming figure, “Let me go! If you want to waste your time on this, fine! But don’t drag me into it!”

“Ugh, fine! Whatever!” Annette huffs and frantically searches the page, “Look, there’s a forum! Hanneman was talking about primary sources, right? Wouldn’t people talking about this stuff be a primary source?”

“No,” Lysithea deadpans.

“You’re no fun.” Annette sets the mouse back down and clicks on the small  _ forum _ text at the top of the page. Lysithea groans. Annette doesn’t care.

She scrolls through the categories.  _ Rules, About, Introductions, _ whatever, it doesn’t matter.  _ General, _ boring.  _ News, Theories, Prophecy  _ — she does a double take.

“Prophecy? I didn’t see anything about a prophecy.”

“Shut uuupppp,” Lysithea groans. She’s given up trying to escape and has sunk low into her chair. “This guy’s clearly just making stuff up. This isn’t even a source.”

Annette clicks on  _ Prophecy. _

“Whoa.”

Annette was expecting maybe one or two pages of threads with responses from months and months ago. What she gets is ninety-nine pages of different threads, at least twelve or thirteen different users under the most recent posts on the first page alone, threads with ten, twenty,  _ fifty _ pages, and timestamps as recent as, she checks the time, four minutes ago.

“They’re crazy,” Annette says, awed, as she hovers over the most recently bumped thread, titled  _ PROPHECY SIGNS UPON US #283.  _ “Do you think they’re talking about the 283rd sign, or is this the 283rd thread?”

“This is stupid,” Lysithea says.

“Hell yeah it is,” Annette says. She clicks on the thread.

The page loads. And loads. And loads. And —

“Lysithea, look!” Annette pokes at the screen. Lysithea bats her finger away. “Mysterious sudden deaths to the east, they think that has to do with the Riegan heirs dying!”

“That  _ was _ pretty weird,” Lysithea mumbles.

“That’s  _ crazy, _ Lysithea! What they’re onto something!”

“You’re way too gullible.”

“Oh, look —”

A throat clears behind them. Annette stiffens. Lysithea’s knuckles turn white around the edge of the desk.

“Sorry,” Annette turns and grins sheepishly, “We’ll be — oh, um, hello, Seteth.”

Seteth stands, arms crossed and stance wide, exactly where she was expecting Tomas to be observing with a quiet request to cool down. “You’re being quite disruptive,” he says not very quietly.

“Oh! Sorry! I was helping Lysithea —”

“She was helping with my thesis!” Lysithea stands, conveniently blocking the computer, and holds a book in front of her. Annette crowds in with her because two walls are better than one. “Actually, Seteth, maybe you can help me.”

He waits for her to continue. She does.

“I’m having trouble finding information on my thesis. I’m researching the influence of the old Church on the Officer’s Academy —”

“Ah,” Seteth interrupts. He places a hand on his chin in thought. “If I remember correctly, the Church itself founded the Officer’s Academy, though it was quite a long time ago, and its influence waned shortly after. Does that help?”

“Um, not exactly, I already —”

“What have you managed to find on the computer?”

Lysithea sputters. Annette inconspicuously claps a hand over her mouth.

“Nothing!” Her voice comes out a squeak. Seteth sighs heavily.

“This computer lab is meant to be for education,” he says. He sounds so tired. “If you are simply fooling around then you should free it up for someone waiting.”

There’s nobody else in the computer lab. Every other computer is unused. Annette wisely chooses not to point this out.

“We’re just still looking, it’s hard to find anything,” Annette’s words are coming out fast. Too fast. She doesn’t know how to slow down. Lysithea claps her hand over Annette’s mouth and shoves Annette’s hand out of the way.

“We’re still experimenting with search terms,” she explains. Seteth turns his attention to her. He doesn’t look especially convinced.

“Perhaps I can help with that much,” he sighs.

Neither Lysithea nor Annette move.

“Oh, um, I don’t think I need any help,” Lysithea stumbles over her words and now, unfortunately for them, Seteth has caught on to their lie. Annette silently curses Lysithea’s complete inability to keep her story straight.

“Allow me to look over your search terms.” It’s not a request. The two exchange glances, part, and watch in equal parts horror and fascination as Seteth’s face morphs from a calm sternness to shock to an incredibly unsettling mask, an approximation of serenity.

“This is not educational,” he says. Annette swallows.

“I just thought, you know, a variety of sources —” she begins. Seteth holds up a hand to stop, closes their browser, and signs them out of the computer.

“That’s quite enough fooling around in the library’s computer lab,” he says. The words are thinly covering a sharp edge, a warning. “The two of you may not use the lab until you can respect its educational value.”

Lysithea and Annette stare.

“That’s two weeks. Out.”

“But —”

“I said out,” Seteth cuts off Lysithea. “Bring your research materials with you. I do not wish to delay your work, but I do not want to see you anywhere near the lab until you can use the equipment responsibly.”

Lysithea looks close to tears. Annette rushes to gather her books and notes and drops them immediately. Seteth, who’s unfairly stony through all this, crouches down to gather everything and hand it off to Lysithea.

“Two weeks,” he says. It almost sounds reassuring. Lysithea sniffles and nods. “Two weeks and you may use these facilities again. Please take that time to reflect on the importance of the search for true knowledge, not nonsense.”

Annette plasters on her best apologetic smile and ushers Lysithea out. She glances over her shoulder as they rush through the door and she can’t help but notice that Seteth looks, well, he looks  _ tired. _

“Yeesh,” Annette murmurs, “That was a bit harsh.”

Lysithea sniffles. Her face is bright, bright pink underneath her white hair.

“Oh no, Lysithea, I’m so sorry.” Once they’re outside and in the fresh breeze Annette wraps her arms around Lysithea. Lysithea doesn’t hug her back. “That was so unfair. I’ll help you research as much as I can.”

“I don’t want your help.” Lysithea shoves her off. “This is your fault. Go bother someone else.”

“What? It’s not my fault!”

“Yes! It is!” Lysithea rubs her face with her sleeve. “If you hadn’t opened that stupid blog… Just leave me alone.”

She storms off, leaving Annette standing in the courtyard by herself. 

* * *

Forty-five minutes later she’s sitting on Mercie’s desk chair.

“How long is your ban?” Mercie asks evenly. Her smile, steady as always, hasn’t budged since she started her rant.

“Two weeks,” Annette grouches, “I don’t see what the big deal is! It’s just a forum.”

“If it’s just a forum then you should’ve left it,” Felix snaps from his position on the floor.

“You don’t understand!” Annette throws her arms up. “They were talking about  _ prophecies _ and  _ holy warriors _ and  _ oh Headmaster Rhea’s an immortal beast! _ It was wild! Incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Felix scowls. Annette regrets dragging him along with her.

“Hm, Headmaster Rhea’s an immortal beast,” Mercie says, “That’s a tall order. What kind of beast?”

“They had the scariest picture of her! She had these fangs and slits for pupils!”

“Oh, spooky!” Mercie chuckles to herself, “That’s perfect. What did you say the website was called again?”

“Don’t —” Felix starts. Annette does not let him finish.

“Safe or Scam!” She almost yells. Mercie nods and writes the name down in her notepad. “It’s got a whole forum and everything. Just don’t let Seteth see you reading it. Tomas didn’t seem to care, but Seteth  _ really _ cared.”

“No shit,” Felix mutters. Annette ignores him.

“It was  _ crazy, _ you guys. They have all these lists and stuff of  _ omens!” _ She takes a deep breath, “And a bunch of them have happened! What if it’s real?”

“What if, indeed,” Mercie says, “What do the omens forewarn, exactly?”

“A great war!” Annette nearly vibrates in excitement. Felix looks at her like he’s dead inside. Mercie gestures for her to continue. “The prophecy — well, I couldn’t find the exact prophecy — but it was made by, um, by…”

“A witch?” Mercie suggests.

“No, that wasn’t it.”

“An asshole?” Felix suggests.

“No, that wasn’t it.”

Annette thinks really hard for a few more moments and then she groans. “I can’t remember!”

“Whoever made the prophecy is likely a ghost by now,” Mercie says. She rests a finger against her face and says with the scariest, sweetest tone Annette has ever heard, “Perhaps it haunts these grounds to this very day…?”

“Mercie, no!”

Felix snorts. Annette grabs Mercie’s pen cup and throws it at him. He sputters. Pens fly everywhere. Mercie doesn’t react. Annette realizes she needs to clean up all these pens and groans again.

“You know the old cathedral? The one across the bridge?”

Annette looks back at Mercedes. “Yeah, why?”

“Well, it’s quite old.”

“This whole campus is old,” Felix mumbles.

“Yes, but the cathedral itself is  _ incredibly _ old,” Mercie continues, “It’s seen thousands of years, and thousands of deaths.”

_ “Mercie!!” _

“Did you know a war was fought on these very grounds?”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Why am I here?”

“Because you’re my friend, and you need to support me!” Annette snaps. “Mercie! Ghosts aren’t real!”

“Oh, then you won’t mind if I share a little legend?”

Annette nearly runs over Felix in her pursuit for the now empty pen cup and throws it at Mercie. Mercie, who’s terrifying, catches it with no effort whatsoever.

“You can read about the Unification of Fódlan in the library,” Mercie explains. She gently sets the pen cup down. Annette sheepishly begins picking up pens and pencils scattered around a very unhelpful Felix. “It was a long, long time ago. A little over a thousand years ago, in fact! Plenty of time for the ghosts of fallen soldiers to fester and grow.”

“I’m leaving!” Annette shrieks. From the corner of her eye she sees Felix smirk and shove a foot against the door. “Hey!”

“They’re angry, you know. They lost, and their spirits want nothing more than to defend Garreg Mach.”

“Uh oh,” taunts Felix, “That sounds pretty scary. What do you think, Annette?”

“I hate both of you!”

“I’ve heard rumors of old ghosts praying at the front of the cathedral where the altar used to be.” Mercie stands and turns off the lights because she’s  _ definitely _ evil. Felix snickers. Annette’s pulse quickens. “They pray to the old Goddess and the old Saints. They pray for protection. They pray for  _ revenge.” _

Annette’s fists are  _ not _ shaking. Mercie  _ is _ possessed.

“The ghost of the old Archbishop is the most restless of them all.” Mercie’s voice has dropped several pitches. It’s  _ not _ scarier than before. “Do you know the legend of the Archbishop Byleth?”

“Legends are stupid!”

“I think it’s silly to ignore them,” Mercedes says, “Lest you fall for their old tricks.”

_ “Who’s  _ old tricks?!”

“Nobody knows. It’s a mystery as old as time itself.” Mercedes lights a flashlight under her chin. Annette doesn’t even have the presence of mind to wonder where she got it from. “It’s said the spirit of the Archbishop Byleth paces the cathedral; chained to that which she fought so hard for. And she’s angry, Annie. She’s angry we’ve all forsaken the Ancient Goddess.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts!” Annette says, very evenly, because she’s not scared.

“Of course not,” Mercie smiles. The shadows playing on her face make her look positively terrifying. “Just like how there’s no such thing as legends, right?”

_ “Mercie!” _

Felix bursts into laughter from the floor, snapping Annette out of Mercie’s story. She crosses her arms in a huff. Mercie flicks the lights back on.

“Oh, Annie,” she says, “Just because you can’t see the ghosts doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Perhaps they don’t mean any harm.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she mutters.

* * *

_ “Father?” _

_ A faceless man she barely remembers stands before her. His ghost kneels before an old altar, flanked on either side by what seems to be an imposing piked fence. She swallows. _

_ “Praying, Father?” _

_ The ghost in front of her straightens slowly. He doesn’t turn. Fiery hair like hers is all that speaks to her while her own eyes search for something, anything. Answers. Questions. Care or apathy. _

_ “Yes,” he says, “Praying is all I can do, for I am at fault for each death upon the cursed plain of Duscur.” _

_ Curse? Duscur? _

_ “You keep saying it’s your fault, father.” Her lips move out of her control. “But you’re wrong.” _

All at once she knows this is a dream.

Her father’s been dead for years; she barely remembers a time before he left his family behind, and the news of his death was the strangest taste of bittersweet. Seeing his unknown body before her recalls the feeling of empty grief, of a glass once filled with whiskey and ice left half empty on a bedside table, leaving a faint ring they were never bothered to sand away.

_ “His Highness doesn’t blame you. Neither does King Lambert, I’m sure of it.” _

_ The ghost before her sags under the weight of his decisions and his regrets. _

_ “But… I guess that’s not the issue for you, is it?” _

_ “Annette!” _

Annette gasps and jerks awake. The face before her doesn’t match the face of the man who very nearly turned to reveal himself and she screams.

“Annette!” A hand darts out to cover her mouth, “Shut up!”

“Hmmph?!?”

“I said shut up!”

Lysithea flicks her between her brows with a small burst of striking hot magic. She shrieks.

“What part of  _ shut up _ do you not understand?!”

Annette rips her hand away from her mouth. “How did you get into my room?!”

“Your roommate let me in!”

_ “What?!” _ Annette thinks bitterly of Ingrid’s poor judgement. “I was sleeping!”

“Not very well,” Lysithea quips. Annette narrows her eyes. She continues, undisturbed. “What were you dreaming of, anyway?”

Annette purses her lips before responding. “I dunno. It was weird. I don’t know how to describe it. Why are you here?!”

Lysithea rolls her eyes and abandons the question.  _ “Look!” _

Annette  _ oofs! _ and receives an enormous book that Lysithea shoves against her chest. She blinks down at it. Her eyes are still blurry from sleep. She blinks some more.

“What?” she asks.

“Open it, geez!”

Annette sets the book down in her lap and stares. The cover is wrapped in foil-stamped velvet, shaping delicate designs and intricate lettering she can’t quite parse out. She blinks. It’s a little clearer and she’s no closer to reading anything on the cover.

“What does this say?” she asks flatly.

“Shut up and open it!”

She rolls her eyes and opens it. The pages have greyed with time — the first sign that something’s off. She runs a finger along the edge of the page and finds it sharp and fresh. A fine silver dust comes off on her fingertip. She sniffs it.

“What are you doing?”

“I just wanted to know what it smelled like,” Annette responds sheepishly. She turns her attention back to the book.

The lettering on the inner pages looks handwritten in drawling, loopy ink. She flips through a few pages; the words are dense, a few diagrams break up the hefty paragraphs.

“I’m not awake enough for this,” she grumbles.

“Ugh! Just — fine, look here!” Lysithea takes the book from her and flips to a page about a quarter of the way through the book. “Look!”

Annette looks. There’s a lot of words.

“Oh. Wow,” she says.

“HOW are you in college?! Can’t you read?”

“Tell me what it says, if you’re so smart!”

“Hmph!” Lysithea throws herself on the mattress next to Annette’s knees. “That book was written about five hundred years ago. It’s dated on the first few pages and in a few journal entries throughout. I double checked the preservation spell just to be sure.”

Annette raises her eyebrows. “Okay?”

“It — well, you remember that stupid forum we found yesterday?” 

Annette decides not to point out  _ she _ found the stupid forum yesterday. She nods.

“This book is  _ way _ older than that forum.”

Annette decides not to say  _ no shit. _ She nods.

“That page references a prophecy.”

Annette perks up. She does not point out there’s a lot of prophecies. “The prophecy on the forum?”

Lysithea nods. “The prophecy on the forum.”

Annette looks down at the pages spread before her, reinvigorated and ready to read. “You said it was stupid,” she pokes with a smirk. Lysithea huffs.

“It  _ was _ stupid,” she says, “And it  _ is _ stupid. Prophecies… you took the same magical theorem class as me, you know time doesn’t really work like that.”

Annette slowly mouths out the words as she reads and trails a finger down the page. She nods. She knows.

“There shouldn’t be any prophecy. It shouldn’t work like that.”

Annette nods. She’s doing that a lot.

“But… I mean, if that book is right…” Lysithea sighs. “They don’t apply preservation magic to just  _ any _ handwritten book. If it’s important they’ll usually just print it or copy it over. It’s intensive, complicated magic. It has to be really important.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Annette says. She thinks of Mercie’s definitely not real ghost story from the day before. “But it’s probably just a legend.”

“What are you talking about? Just yesterday you were going on and on about how all the omens have happened and how a great war is upon us!”

“I just got excited!”

“Read the book, Annette! They don’t preserve random stupid legends!”

Annette works her way slowly down the page, mentally translating words that are just old enough to be lost, line for line, word for word, while Lysithea sits tensely on the edge of her bed. She looks back up.

“Holy shit,” she says, “I hate this.”

Lysithea nods emphatically. “What the hell, right?”

“Right.” She looks back down at the book in disbelief and stares at the sentence,  _ And the continent will split in three, A plague will fall upon the kingdom, A terrible assassination will come to pass, All at the words of the Holy Saint Byleth. _ “A terrible assassination, though… Has there been a terrible assassination that I forgot about?”

Lysithea shrugs. “No, but the continent split hundreds of years ago, and there was the epidemic that killed the queen, what, fifteen years ago?”

Annette shrugs. “I guess. Is it even a kingdom, though? The royal family just kind of sits around and has money.”

“Does it matter?” Lysithea sighs. “Look. Call me crazy —”

“You’re crazy.”

“But I think this is worth looking into.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely crazy.” Annete sighs. “Where did you even find this book?”

Lysithea smirks. Annette’s jaw drops.

_ “You didn’t.” _

“I did.”

_ “How?!” _

“Oh, you know Tomas doesn’t notice much,” she says, “I just snuck in and snuck out.”

“But Seteth —”

“Was fussing over his sister. Apparently she has a fever.”

“But —”

“Look,” Lysithea’s smirk grows, “I’m not a kid. I know how to sneak into the archives, and I know Tomas is way too old to hear me shuffling around.”

_ “Why?!” _

“You saw what the stupid library had!” Lysithea’s smirk breaks and she can’t contain her rage. She stands and stomps. Annette suppresses a laugh. “Nothing! Jack shit! None of those books said a single thing about the Church’s influence on the Officer’s Academy, or if there even was one! So I took it into my own hands!”

“Lysithea! You said the shit word!”

_ “I am not a baby, I know swear words!” _

“Ah, yes,” Annette nods wisely, “The time honored, mature tradition of saying bad words.”

“Ugh, shut up!” She crosses her arms. “So I went into the archives and I went where Seteth hides his stupid banned books. He’d just burn them if they were normal, and don’t get me wrong, there were a bunch of burned books. There has to be a reason he kept that one hidden away in pristine condition.”

“What other banned books were down there?”

“Stupid ones.”

Annette nods wisely.

“So, wait,” Annette cuts off her own meandering train of thought, “Seteth removed this from the library, put it out of bounds in the archives, and… what? Why?”

Lysithea moves to stand beside Annette and leans down so their faces are level.

“I think,” she says, “That blog wasn’t written by someone as crazy as we thought.”

Annette stares.

“I think,” she turns to a page near the end, where a diagram of a great beast labeled  _ The Immaculate One _ is shown, “Headmaster Rhea might be a little more beast than we realised.”

“You think she’s that,” Annette says flatly.

Lysithea points to a small note on the corner of the page. “The last time this beast was supposedly sighted was at the Battle at Garreg Mach at the beginning of the war for the Unification of Fódlan. That war,  _ supposedly,  _ is the war that took Seiros out of power.”

“So? Beasts were a lot more common back then.”

“Not beasts like this.” Lysithea takes the book out of her lap and flips back and forth through the pages. “Have you ever seen literature on beasts like this? Enormous, winged beasts?”

Annette shakes her head.

“Tell me, then,” Lysithea says, “Why is this diagram on that stupid blog?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey check out this [INCREDIBLE blog](https://mysticinvestigations.com/anti-claus/)
> 
> This is. An enormous project that I’ve been planning for months and decided to just jump in and start doing. It started as a Harry Potter AU, melded with an Animorphs AU (book sixteen: The Warning), somehow wedged itself into a The Set of That 70s Show AU, and now I’m not really sure it’s a referential AU at all. Who cares? It’s fun! 
> 
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	2. The Wheel of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe has a computer. Felix thinks this is nonsense. Mercedes checks with the cards.

“I just think we should take this seriously!”

“Oh, I agree. Hauntings are no laughing matter.”

“Mercie, stop!”

_ “Nobody _ said anything about ghosts!”

“Why am I  _ here?!” _ Felix finally snaps.

“I think they needed someone really rude,” Claude muses, “Or maybe you’re Annette’s emotional support Felix.”

_ “Claude!” _

“What the  _ hell _ is an emotional support Felix?!”

“It’s you!”

“Everyone, will you just  _ shut the hell up!” _ Lysithea stomps her feet. Felix represses a snort. “This is serious!  _ My entire diploma depends on this!” _

“Aw, life isn’t all about grades!” Claude laughs.

“Just because you don’t take your studies seriously —”

“I’m leaving.”

“Felix, no!” Lysithea grabs his arm. He stops and stares at her. “We need you! You’re integral to the plan!”

“What  _ plan?!” _ Felix hisses at the same time Claude says delightedly,  _ “What _ plan?!”

Lysithea’s smirk portents trouble. Annette’s wide, serious eyes implore him to actually listen. He crosses his arms and huffs.

“We need to get back into the lab,” Lysithea explains. Claude leans in. Mercedes relaxes back. “But Annette and I were banned until Seteth stops caring.”

“Uh oh, Lysithea, if you’re banned from the library how will you keep your 4.0?”

Lysithea kicks Claude.

“Oh, dear,” Mercedes laughs. Claude takes a careful step back.

“He’ll forget.” She doesn’t sound confident. “But for now you can help me with my thesis by getting into that forum and printing out some of the pages for me.”

Claude whistles. “How many of the pages?”

Felix scowls. “You better be paying for this.”

“As many as you can get!” Annette shouts and immediately recoils back. “Sorry.”

“The entire website, got it,” Claude nods.

“Oh yikes, don’t do that.” Lysithea sighs and shakes her head. “I’ll go through the entire website when I’m allowed back, and I’ll make sure Seteth doesn’t see me. That, or El and Dimitri have a computer at their apartment. If I tell El it’s for my thesis she’ll let me use it.”

“Why don’t you just go there  _ now?” _ Felix snaps.

“El’s visiting her uncle!” Lysithea says as if it’s incredibly obvious and everyone keeps up with Edelgard’s comings and goings. “And I don’t know Dimitri that well. Although —”

“No,” Felix snaps.

“That’s what I thought,” Lysithea responds coolly. “So we have to wait for El to come back.”

“Unless,” Claude raises an eyebrow and does not continue.

“Unless what, Claude.”

“Unless… we can get access to another computer?”

Lysithea stares. Claude continues.

“I heard a rumor one of Felix’s friends has one of his own,” he says. Felix immediately turns to leave. Lysithea’s fingers dig into his arm and he’s rendered frozen.

_ “Felixwhichoneofyourfriendshashisowncomputer.” _

“I don’t care,” he says. She yanks on his arm. He turns back and Lysithea presents him with a fistful of miasma.

“Unless you want this on your face,” she says with an evenness that doesn’t match the fury in her eyes, “I suggest you tell me.”

Felix swallows.

“Oh, are you talking about Ashe?” Mercedes offers helpfully. Felix groans. Annette hops in place.

“Oh, I forgot Ashe has his own computer!” Annette squeaks.

“He does. I believe it’s quite old, but it might do.”

Lysithea extinguishes the magic in her palm and says, “Why didn’t you say anything sooner, Felix?”

Felix sputters and says, “I — I don’t think it can even connect to the internet. It’s an old Hackintosh, it’s got, I don’t know,  _ Pong _ or whatever —”

“ASHE’S COMPUTER HAS  _ GAMES _ AND HE DIDN’T TELL ME?!”

“Is it your business?” Felix snaps at Annette and immediately regrets it. “Sorry,” he mumbles. Annette only hits him a little bit. 

“I can’t believe he didn’t  _ tell _ me,” she pouts.

“He probably didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you looking up spooky prophecy forums on it,” Claude suggests.

“How many times have I done that?!”

“I dunno, at least once?”

“Guys! Can we  _ please _ stay on topic!” Lysithea shouts. “Fine, we can ask Ashe first. He’s friends with Felix and Annette, he  _ can’t _ say no.”

Unfortunately for Lysithea, he says no.

“It won’t display how you expect,” he explains to the small crowd gathered around his computer, “It’s — it’s really old. Lonato was gonna just throw it away when he got a new computer, but I didn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Aw, Lysithea, it’s older than you!”

Lysithea punches Claude.

“It’s not,” Ashe corrects, “But it’s older than modern graphics. You said this is a forum?”

“Yeah!” Annette pushes between Felix and Lysithea to stand in front, “We got kicked out of the library for looking at it!”

Ashe sighs and nods. “Yeah, this won’t be able to process that. You may be able to look at the code if you can read it —”

“Oohh, like a hacker?” Annette’s eyes light up. Ashe’s face turns pink.

“It’s not — no, it’s not hacking.” His eyes are darting everywhere. Felix shoots out a hand to cover Claude’s face from saying whatever nosy comment is forming behind his smirk. “It has everything to do with the limits of the technology and nothing to do with hacking.”

“But you can read the code!”

“I mean, yeah?”

“So you could —”

“No! No, you can’t, I can’t.” Ashe raises his hands in front of him in defeat. “If you got kicked out of the library then you can’t use my computer. What if you get caught and I get blamed?”

Annette deflates a little. Lysithea chews on her lip. Claude shoves Felix’s hand from his face.

“You know, I can get you in —”

“I can get in, myself!” Lysithea snaps, “I got in and out of the archives without you just fine. The problem is I have to  _ stay _ there.”

Claude actually seems impressed. Felix knows  _ he’s _ impressed.

“Well, what if I can help you stay there?”

Lysithea narrows her eyes. Ashe looks between them.

“Do you have to talk about this right here?” he whines. Claude doesn’t respond.

“There’s a lot of students here,” he says, “If we just shave your head —”

“Claude, I can and  _ will _ kill you.”

“I’m just saying! I bet Seteth wouldn’t even recognize you!”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

“No, hold on, I think he’s onto something.” Annette scratches her chin. Felix can see the wheels turning in her mind, which is very rarely a good thing.

“This is a terrible idea,” Felix says.

“Don’t be such a spoilsport!” Annette snaps.

“Yeah, Felix, you’re such a funwrecker,” Claude says with a wink. Felix considers throwing him out the window.

“Whatever,” he growls. None of this can possibly go well.

“Maybe… Hm, we could put our hair up? Or we could get fake glasses?”

“A fake mustache would be excellent,” Claude suggests. Lysithea punches him.

“Please, I don’t want to be dragged into this,” Ashe says. He looks completely and utterly helpless. Felix’s heart lurches and he snaps. 

“Let’s go,” He pushes everyone toward the door and fails.

“You can’t tell me what to do, Felix Fraldarius!” Annette yells. Ashe groans.

“Felix is right,” Mercedes says. Felix and Annette both jump. He forgot she was there. “It seems this is a dead end to our great mystery. Let’s look elsewhere.”

Annette huffs, but it seems that Mercedes’ influence on Annette is much stronger than his. “Fine,” she huffs, “But this isn’t over, Ashe! You can’t hide your computer games from me!”

Ashe hurriedly shuts the door as soon as they’re on the other side and slides the deadbolt shut.

They stand there awkwardly, the five of them crowded around Ashe’s very locked door, looking between one another as if someone might have all the answers.

“I have a suggestion.” Mercedes reaches into her pocket and begins to withdraw a small box. Annette very quickly shoves her hand back down.

“No!”

“Oh, but Annie, you’d be surprised by the answers you can get.”

“I said no!”

“Answers?” Claude smirks. “I like answers. Where are these answers, my dear Mercedes?”

Felix watches, dumbfounded, while this whole thing unfolds in front of him. Mercedes opens her mouth to respond, but before she can speak, she’s dragged away.

“No! Absolutely not!” He can hear Annette yelling as she pulls Mercedes down the hallway. “Those things are spooky!”

Felix blinks. Claude nods. Lysithea scoffs.

“Stupid,” she huffs. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.  _ Stupid.” _

Claude watches their retreating figures as Annette storms down the hall, dragging Mercedes behind her, and after they round a corner he turns to Lysithea with raised brows.

“So, wanna hear my plan?”

She groans. “Fine!”

  
  


* * *

Felix needs to find better friends.

Annette is staring, shocked and defeated, at the broken sunglasses in her hands. Lysithea is ignoring her and, instead, is shuffling through a massive stack of paper. Ingrid is suppressing her laughter.

“You really thought sunglasses would do it…” she says around the shaking of her shoulders. “You really,  _ truly _ thought Seteth wouldn’t recognize a, uh, Lysithea? If Annette’s a ginger, what would you be?”

“Who cares?” Lysithea snaps.

“My point is you’re not exactly inconspicuous.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We got enough.”

“Enough of  _ what?” _ Felix snaps. “And  _ why _ do you keep dragging me into this? I don’t care!”

Lysithea levels him with a dead stare. “Don’t act coy. Yes you do.”

_ “What? Why?” _

“Because, stupid, it involves  _ you.” _

He stares back, channeling all the exhaustion and exasperation he possibly can.

“Yeah,” Annette says hollowly. Ingrid can’t help it; she snorts. “It does. At least, we think it does.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

“Hang on! Yikes, dude, I’m trying to find it.” Lysithea’s flipping pages back and forth, muttering to herself, writing little notes in the margins in various colors of gel pen and leaving post-its on various pages. “There’s a lot to go through, here.”

“This has absolutely nothing to do with me. I’ve never spoken with Headmaster Rhea. I don’t give a shit if she’s a monster.”

“It goes further than that! Shut up, let me focus!”

Felix huffs, but he shuts up. He shares a glance with Ingrid. At least  _ she _ thinks this is funny; he thinks this is really fucking stupid.

“Ah! Here it is.”

All eyes, despite themselves, lock onto Lysithea as she highlights a few lines of text.

“One of the omens — and I cross checked with that book,” she nods to the enormous tome left open on Annette’s bed, “Has to do with the reincarnation of several holy warriors, one of which is referred to as the Shield of Faerghus.”

“My father is the shield,” he says, deadpan. 

“Yeah, I know,” Lysithea snaps back, “You’ve told me all about your stupid dad and your stupid brother and your stupid family.”

He can’t argue with that, so he doesn’t.

“What makes me think it’s  _ you _ is the reference to the savior king.”

Felix thinks of Lambert, who’s about as far from a savior as he can imagine. “Sounds like the shield thing is a coincidence, then.”

“Not quite.” Lysithea hands him several papers of poorly formatted forum posts. He stares at them. She rolls her eyes and takes them back. “Fine. If you’re gonna be a brat about it.”

“Shut up.” Felix snatches the papers from her.

“They’re discussing the origins of the savior king,” Lysithea explains as Felix half assedly looks over the page half covered in purple highlighter and notes in blue gel pen. “There’s specific criteria for his reincarnation —”

“Oh. You’re actually serious about this.”

“Yes!” Lysithea sighs. “Felix, this is very serious!”

“No, this is stupid.”

“It’s  _ not! _ ”

“Actually, I’m confused, too,” Ingrid interjects. He looks at her gratefully. She ignores him. “Why is this important, exactly? Prophecies come up all the time, but they’re always fake.”

“Ugh, _how_ many times will I have to explain this?” Lysithea groans and leans back in Annette’s desk chair rubbing her eyes. “Prophecies shouldn’t exist. Theoretically, they don’t work.”

“She’s right,” Annette sighs, “They shouldn’t. They  _ can’t. _ But…”

“But this one might,” Lysithea continues, “And even if it doesn’t, why did Seteth kick us out of the library for looking at that forum? The prophecy’s probably fake, but I got in trouble for looking at something that questioned the Headmaster.”

Felix straightens up at that. Ingrid’s jaw drops.

“It’s not outlandish to suggest Headmaster Rhea has some ulterior motive.” Lysithea sets her pens and markers down and turns to face the rest of the room fully. “Headmaster Rhea may not be a beast in disguise, she may not be out to rule the world like some cartoon villain, but there’s a certain amount of power and influence you can get from leading the leading college in magical technology. Money, fame, whatever.”

“And you got kicked out for looking at something that suggested that,” Ingrid clarifies.

“You got kicked out for, what, questioning propaganda?” Felix asks at the same time.

Lysithea shrugs. “I don’t know about  _ propaganda, _ but it questioned Headmaster Rhea’s intentions. Seteth didn’t kick us out until he actually read some of the forum posts.”

“That… doesn’t seem right,” Ingrid says. 

“For once in your life you’re making sense.” Felix sighs. “Fine. This is stupid, I’m not some  _ reincarnated holy warrior, _ but I wanna know why you got kicked out for looking at that.”

Lysithea nods. “Look at the paper, Fraldarius.”

He scoffs and skims over the highlighted bits.

> _… referred to as the Shield of Faerghus. Records are difficult to find, whatever survived 1,000 years only did so at the hands of the Seiros, herself, but if the legends of old are to be believed the Shield is meant to protect the Savior King … according to legend, the Savior King survived an assassination that killed the rest of the royal family … the Savior King and his advisor, the Shield, supposedly worked in tandem to bring great reform to the Unified Fódlan …_

“Literally none of this has happened,” Felix says.

“Use your brain, Felix,” Lysithea says, “They’re speculating. The title says speculation. Come on.”

Felix looks. The title does, indeed, include the word speculation.

_ “Speculation on the Holy Warriors,” _ he reads dryly, “Great, so nobody knows what they’re talking about. Why am I reading this?”

Annette holds a hand out. Felix doesn’t have it in him to say no when she looks so beat down. He places the stack in her hands and she rifles through.

“Here it is,” she sighs, “Ten or fifteen years before the beginning of the war for the Unification of Fódlan there was a massive plague that ripped through the kingdom. Records are difficult to obtain, very little has survived, but it’s speculated the Savior King’s mother died in the plague.”

“So? Queens die to illness all the time.”

“Queens… die to illness… all the time,” Ingrid says flatly.

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

“Didn’t the queen die awhile ago?” Lysithea asks. Everyone around her nods. “What did she die from?”

“I heard it was the flu,” Annette says.

“Pneumonia,” Felix corrects. Ingrid nods. “Glenn would know more than me, though. You could ask Sylvain, too, I guess.”

Lysithea shakes her head. “I don’t even  _ want _ to know what kind of innuendo he could pull from that.”

“I always forget you grew up with the actual, literal prince,” Annette mutters.

“You forget Dimitri’s the actual, literal prince all the time,” Felix points out. Annette shrugs.

“So there’s a plague that kills the queen,” Annette continues, “He survives an assassination, though that hasn’t happened as far as we know. Political unrest and rebellion, and the Shield and Savior King are said to suppress rebellion together. Hm. Have you suppressed any rebellions recently?”

Felix pretends to think.

“No. Why the fuck would you think I did that.”

“Great, I’m glad that’s cleared up,” Ingrid says.

“Will you  _ please _ suspend disbelief for like, five minutes!” Lysithea slams a hand onto Annette’s desk. Annette jumps. “There’s a lot to get through, and if I’m going to do a good fucking job, I need to do a lot of fucking work!”

Ingrid fake gasps. “Lysithea, you said the fuck word!”

_ “I hate all of you!” _

Annette huffs out a laugh. It’s the most emotion she’s shown since she stopped crying over Lysithea getting caught. “She said  _ fucking, _ Ingrid, not fuck. It’s different.”

“Oh, my mistake.”

_ “Anyway!” _ Lysithea rolls her eyes and goes back to looking through her stack of paper, “There’s more. There’s a lot more. An insurrection in the empire, that happened a long time ago. A fire at the monastery — actually, Annette, were you able to find records of a fire?”

Annette shakes her head. “I haven’t had a chance to look.”

“We need to get somebody in there who won’t get kicked out,” Lysithea murmurs to herself. “Hey, Ingrid?”

“Sorry, but no.”

“Felix?”

“No.”

“Hm.” Lysithea taps a gel pen against her cheek. Felix chooses not to mention it’s leaving little gold dots on her face and, from the looks of it, Annette is making the same choice. “I wonder if I could get Linhardt to do it…”

Annette groans. “By the time he actually gets around to it we’ll be allowed in there again!”

“Maybe I can ask Professor Manuela,” Lysithea muses. There’s a pause while Lysithea thinks, Annette and Felix watch, and Ingrid…

“What the hell are you doing?” Felix asks. Ingrid snaps out of whatever trance she seemed to be in and looks at him, alarmed.

“Hm? Oh, uh, I don’t know.” She looks confused at her own actions. Felix sits up straighter, as does Annette.

“You looked like you’ve seen a thousand horrors,” Annette says in awe.

“You looked like you were seeing through time,” Felix says.

Ingrid seems to break out of yet another trance. “I — sorry, I’m not feeling well,” she says. Annette tosses a bottle of painkillers that lands neatly on the bed next to her. Annette and Felix exchange glances; it’s unlike Ingrid to not catch and be annoyingly flashy about it. “I’m really sorry, I think I need to lay down. Could you guys, um…”

“Yeah,” Annette shuts the tome and tucks it in her wardrobe, underneath her folded sweaters. She gestures for Felix and Lysithea to follow. “Do you need anything? Soup? Snacks? The blood of your enemies?”

Ingrid stares at nothing. “No… No, I don’t think so. Thanks.”

Felix leaves the room first. Annette stays behind and helps Lysithea gather her papers, and when they leave their dorm and lock the door behind them, Felix and Annette share a glance.

“She must be really sick,” Annette says. She looks back at her door nervously. “I’ll check on her in a few hours. Can we go back to your dorm, Felix?”

“Is that really what you want?” 

Annette shrugs. Felix sighs.

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And yet, when they walk through the door of his dorm, it’s as if he didn’t warn them at all.

At least Felix’s bed is relatively clear; pushing books and plates off every night is too much hassle, so the mess ends up concentrated at his desk, chair, and atop his dresser and wardrobe. He can’t say the same for Claude’s side; books lay both open and closed on his mattress and pillows, some stacked several high and some toppled over after he kicked them in his sleep. Plates and glassware lay abandoned on the floor near the head of his bed and in a neat stack on his desk, the cleanest surface on his side of the room. Amidst the clutter and disgusting mess sits Claude, himself, looking up at the three of them conspiratorially.

“Ah, come for my help yet again, I see!” he says, sweeping his hands in a grand gesture of welcome. “Welcome, welcome, I’m thrilled you’re here. How did the infiltration go? I see you have sheets upon sheets upon  _ sheets _ of paper!”

“Shut up, Claude,” Lysithea mumbles. She throws herself on Felix’s bed and her face twists in disgust. “What is that  _ smell?” _

“Ah, my dear Lysithea, that’s called  _ eau de man,” _ Claude explains. Felix scowls. Annette pinches her nose.

“You  _ live like this?!” _ she squeaks.

“We do, indeed! It’s a lovely life, truly.”

“It’s all him,” Felix mumbles, conveniently ignoring the six empty glasses at his desk. Those don’t count. He likes to reuse his water glasses; it’s less wasteful that way.

“How do you  _ find _ anything?” Lysithea groans. “How do you  _ concentrate?” _

“Ah, my dear Lysithea, it’s called blissful ignorance!”

“I warned you,” Felix points out.

“Nothing could have prepared me for this,” Annette’s voice is nasally and blunt. 

“I can’t even think in here,” Lysithea whines.

“Great. Leave.”

“Don’t be so unkind to our guests, Felix!” Claude laughs. “We should be welcoming. Hospitable!”

“Yeah, Felix,” Annette says with a sly grin.

“Fine! Make yourself at home, then.” Felix gestures to the room he shares with Claude. Annette doesn’t leave the doorway.

“I think I’m at home right here.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so!” Claude leaps up to take her hand and drag her deeper into their room. She carefully tries to avoid stepping on anything and fails completely, sliding on two open books and crushing a glass under her shoe. Claude whistles.

“That’s your fault!” she squawks.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he says. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m  _ thrilled _ you’re here. Really. Love to be included. But if you want to use my highly prestigious office space, you’re gonna have to give up some deets.”

“Oh, you want  _ deets?” _ Lysithea snaps. “Well, the  _ deets _ involve all the Riegan heirs mysteriously dying, up until you appeared. How about that for deets?”

Felix wants to die.

“Oh.” Claude quickly wipes his face of any shock and places a hand on his hips. Annette carefully extricates her hand from his and knocks over several stacks of books on her quest to Felix’s relatively clear bed. “I have my own theories on that, but I’d just  _ love _ to hear yours, Lys.”

_ “Stop calling me Lice!” _

Claude considers this. “Okay, Squirt. Now, deets.”

Felix really, truly thinks he might witness a murder in his own dorm room. He’d prefer if Claude wasn’t the victim, but it might be exciting.

“I hate you,” Lysithea settles on. Felix only feels a little disappointed. “How did all your uncles die?”

“Ain’t that the mystery?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Is this about their ghosts? Ghosts are pretty cool.”

Lysithea pales and quickly covers up her plain fear with a scoff. “No, stupid. It has to do with the prophecy, and how it predicts  _ mysterious deaths to the east.” _

“Ah! Mystery! Love those.”

“If you can convince them to get out of my room and leave us alone,” Felix says, “It would be much appreciated.”

“Nah, I love this stuff. Please, Squirt, continue.”

It’s a testament to how badly Lysithea wants him in on this that she doesn’t immediately blast him into next week. Instead she pages through her stack and withdraws a few sheets, equally as highlighted as the sheets referencing the Shield. He takes them from her and his brows pinch together as he reads.

“Fascinating,” he mutters, “I love conspiracy forums.”

“What do you mean? Do you go on these things?” Annette leans forward. “Have you gone on this one?”

Claude shrugs. “I don’t think I’ve used this one, but there’s a lot of ‘em like this. I like to say completely outlandish things. See what happens.”

“Great, so now we have to contend with people like you alongside the ones who actually know what they’re talking about,” Lysithea groans.

“Nobody knows what they’re talking about,” Felix snaps back.

“They knew about the Immaculate One!”

“For all you know that book could be forged and Tomas could be the one writing that stupid blog!”

Lysithea shakes her head. “Felix, I already told Annette. The preservation spell is around 500 years old. You can’t fake that.”

“Great, so Tomas saw that book and wrote his own blog to fuck with everyone. Mystery solved.”

“As much as I  _ adore _ the idea,” Claude says, “I wouldn’t attribute malice where stupidity would suffice.”

“So you agree, then. This is stupid.”

Claude smirks. “Maybe! I’m no historian, though. Our resident magical experts are right here,” he gestures to Annette and Lysithea. Annette blushes. “I’m certain they could answer most of our questions, and from the sound of it they already have.”

“Great, so you three can talk about this, then. I’m leaving.”

Claude may as well fly across the room for how quickly he gets between Felix and the door. He leans against it with a smirk. “No, no, no, Felix. You fill a  _ very _ important role.”

“Uh huh.”

_ “You _ are the resident asshole. The straight-laced cop. The bad boy.”

“None of those things go together.”

“That’s why you’re so important,” Claude winks, “You fill so many different roles. You’re varied.”

“Yeah, Felix, we need you!” Annette cries.

Felix grits his teeth. “Fine,” he pushes out, “But this is  _ stupid.” _

“Yes, you keep saying that,” Lysithea says. “Claude, what do you think about all that, though?”

Claude shrugs from his position against the door. “It’s true that there’ve been  _ mysterious deaths _ to the east, but there’s always mysterious deaths in every cardinal direction. Just because it happens to fit doesn’t mean it’s a sign.”

“I  _ know that,  _ Claude, that’s how prophecies work and how people actually  _ believe _ them.”

“Great! I knew you were smart!” He pushes himself from the door and saunters over to his desk chair. Felix glances around and slowly, nimbly sits himself down on his own bed, carefully avoiding the destruction left in Annette’s path. “What makes you want to take this seriously, then?”

_ “That _ has nothing to do with you.” Lysithea sighs and leans her head against the wall with a  _ thump. _ “It’s just a coincidence in a long line of coincidences. The reincarnated holy warrior that leads Leicester could be anybody summoned to take the Riegan heirs’ places, it’s the stuff about  _ Felix _ that’s specific. Too specific to be a coincidence, anyway.”

“I told you, I’m not the Shield.”

“Correct.”

“And Lambert’s no savior king.”

“Yes, you’ve said this.”

“The coincidences end there. Meaning there aren’t any.”

“But the Shield is meant to  _ protect _ the savior king, and isn’t your family —”

“Yes, the entire Fraldarius line is meant to protect the entire Blaiddyd line. That means nothing. Hell, it’s more likely  _ Glenn’s  _ some resurrected holy warrior, he actually guards the family.”

Lysithea rubs her brow. “Maybe you’re right…”

“Or maybe,” Claude winks, “He’s wrong.”

“Stop winking. It’s annoying.”

“Or maybe,” Claude winks at Felix,  _ “You’re _ annoying.”

“We need to find out more about the monastery fire,” Lysithea says. “Supposedly that’s a really big deal. It doesn’t say what the extent of the damage is, it just says a child is believed to have died, but rises as Saint Byleth, herself.”

“And…?” Claude prompts.

“That’s, supposedly, the final sign before it’s too late.” Lysithea plays with the corner of her papers. “When Saint Byleth’s rising is inevitable, that’s the final sign that we’ve entered the prophecy, or the curse. Whatever it is.”

* * *

Felix is incredibly fucking sick of this shit. Lysithea and Annette stayed in his shared room with Claude way too late, distracted him from his studies for way too long, and now he’s having weird dreams about, ugh,  _ Sylvain _ again. He’s going to nip this in the bud. He’s going to ask someone who’s been working at the school forever.

“A fire?” Professor Hanneman’s eyebrows rise, “Yes, in fact, there was a fire in the knight’s quarters shortly before I joined the faculty.”

“There’s fires all the time, though,” Felix says.

“Well, yes. Students cooking for the first time, using microwaves irresponsibly,” Hanneman shakes his head, “Not major fires, though, no.”

“This one was pretty minor, then?”

“Well, you’d be better off asking Seteth —”

“He didn’t know anything,” Felix lies.

“Hm, strange. It’s not every day I know more about the Monastery than him.” Professor Hanneman shakes his head. “Regardless, no, it was quite major. From my understanding they had to rebuild much of the knight’s quarters.”

“Did anyone die?”

“That’s… quite a macabre question, Felix.” He sighs and, when Felix doesn’t say anything, he continues. “I don’t know. I’ve never asked. I believe Headmaster Rhea was here at that point, you might consider asking her.”

“Hm.” Felix crosses his arms. It’s annoying, but it’s probably a coincidence. “Thanks.”

“Ah, was there a reason —?”

Felix doesn’t stick around to hear the rest of the question. He speeds through the door and makes his way toward his room, deep in thought on this stupid pet project of Lysithea’s and not his own homework. 

_ If he doesn’t know about anyone dying, _ Felix muses,  _ Then it’s not likely a kid died. That’s the sort of thing people talk about. _

“Fuck!”

Felix blinks down at the short ginger who full-body collided with him from around a corner. Annette blinks back up at him and her face morphs into one of fury.

“Where have you been!” she yells, “We’ve been looking for you!”

“Oh,” Felix says.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?!”

“I had class.”

Annette crosses her arms. “You don’t have class this late.”

“Why do you know my schedule so well?”

Lysithea comes up behind Annette. She looks deep in thought. “Felix.”

He growls to himself. “What.”

“We talked to Professor Manuela.”

Felix doesn’t respond.

“She said there was a fire in the monastery around twenty years ago,” she continues, “And she said, well, she wasn’t here, but some of the knights have told her about it.”

Annette nods fervently and takes over. “She said the leader of the knights left shortly after; apparently his children were never found after the fire.”

Felix feels like he’s been dunked in something hot and cold all at once. He clears his throat.

“So? It could be a coincidence.”

“Well, get a load of this,” Annette says.

“This is weird,” Lysithea cuts her off before she can continue, “I mean… super weird.”

“Stop wasting my time and tell me.”

Lysithea rolls her eyes. “Ugh, you’re impossible. Whatever. Both the twins were named Byleth.”

“That’s fucking stupid. Who told you this?”

“Manuela!” Annette yells. “She wouldn’t lie!”

“Someone lied to her, then.” Felix sighs. “Someone’s leading you around. Who names their twins the same thing?”

“Manuela thought it was weird, too,” Lysithea says, “But apparently she confirmed with Headmaster Rhea. She was really upset when it was brought up, but she confirmed a pair of twins were lost in the fire.”

Felix grunts.

“Manuela said something else interesting, though.”

“Will you  _ please _ just tell me everything you’re trying to say.”

“It was ruled as arson!” Annette jumps at the volume of her own voice. “Sorry, it was ruled as an arson. They never confirmed anything, but apparently everyone thinks the twins’ dad did it.”

“...So the  _ dad _ is fucking with you.”

“Look,” Annette sucks in a big breath before continuing. Lysithea looks at her, concerned. “I’ve been thinking about what Mercie said. About ghosts.”

“I thought you said ghosts weren’t real.”

“Ghosts  _ aren’t _ real!” Lysithea shouts.

“Neither are prophecies!” Annette yells back, “Mercie said the ghost of the old Archbishop Byleth haunts the monastery, and that old book references a Saint Byleth.”

“There’s a lot of double Byleths,” Felix says dryly.

“Yeah,” Lysithea sighs, “Look, just take us back to your room and let us talk to Claude. He knows more about the history of Fódlan than us.”

“Claude’s gone,” Felix says. Lysithea and Annette both stare until he continues. “He went on some… thing. I don’t know, apparently Edelgard got back and he left with her and Dimitri for some team building thing. You can ask him when he gets back.”

Lysithea crosses her arms and huffs. “I don’t want to wait,” she mutters. “But… hm, who else…”

“I… I have an idea,” Annette says hesitantly.

“Well? Spit it out!” Lysithea snaps.

“I — ugh, this is so stupid,” she groans, “Ghosts aren’t even real. Prophecies aren’t real. Who do we know that’s an expert in things that aren’t real?”

Felix shakes his head. “No. That’s a waste of time. No.”

“Hurry up, Annette, we don’t have all day!”

“Mercie!” She declares. “Mercie knows all about fake stuff. If we can’t find anything that’s real, we might as well find fake things.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Felix says.

_ “You _ don’t make any sense,” Lysithea snaps. “I like your idea, Annette. Ghosts  _ definitely _ aren’t real, so nothing bad can happen if we ask Mercedes.”

They nod at one another and each grab one of Felix’s arms. He groans. They ignore him and drag him down a set of stairs, down the hall, to a door with a small plaque reading  _ Mercedes! _ that Annette made.

“Mercie!” Annette calls through the door, “I have a question!”

A moment passes. Then another. And another.

The door opens. Felix wonders dully if Mercedes makes noise when she walks at all. 

“Oh, what a lovely surprise!”

Mercedes smiles at the three of them with complete and utter serenity, like anything could roll off her back and she’d simply let it. The soft earth tones of her room behind her mask her terrifying love and appreciation for the occult. The comforting scent of orange and patchouli and smoke roll out from around her, fueled by a burning incense stick she’s not supposed to have and her own perfume. Felix groans internally. She’s doing weird shit again.

“Mercie, tell us about the Byleth ghost.”

Mercedes taps her chin. “I thought ghosts weren’t real,” she says.

“Please.”

She smiles. “Well why didn’t you say so before, Annie? Of course, I’ll tell you all that I know.”

Felix follows Annette and Lysithea into Mercedes’ room out of a sense of duty and nothing else. Certainly not curiosity. Mercedes hits  _ start _ on her electric kettle she’s also not supposed to have and pulls several different tea bags and mugs from an impossibly stuffed cupboard that, again, she’s really not supposed to have.

“Make yourselves comfortable.” She gestures around her room. It’s covered in poufs and cushions, her bed is wonderfully cozy and laden with thick, fluffy blankets and comforters. A deep green rug covers the plain linoleum present in every dorm. Annette takes a blanket and settles down on a cushion in front of a low table; Lysithea follows and burrows into the same blanket, sitting closely together. Felix sits on the bed. The kettle  _ clicks _ and Mercedes carefully pours hot water over different tea bags in each mug and passes them around. Felix sips his appreciatively; the scent of the spices in his chai mingles pleasantly with her incense.

“You’re the  _ best,” _ Annette sighs. She sets her mug down on the table in front of her and continues. “Mercie, you wouldn’t  _ believe _ what we’ve found.”

Annette launches into the tale of the big few days they’ve had. Felix knows she’s already told Mercedes some of this. She nods along politely anyway. Lyisthea interjects when Annette’s explanation isn’t thorough enough, but otherwise stays quiet.

“That’s all quite exciting,” Mercedes says. “You said if this prophecy is real that these twins may be the reincarnations of the Archbishop and the Saint Byleth?”

Annette and Lysithea both nod. Felix watches without great interest, he hopes.

“I regret to be the one to tell you this,” she says, “But it’s believed by those who study such things that the Archbishop and the Saint were one and the same.”

_ “What?!” _

Annette, Lysithea, and Felix look between one another, embarrassed in various degrees over how excited the three of them are. Mercedes nods as if nothing strange happened.

“Yes,” she says, “I must admit, I’ve heard of this prophecy before. I confirmed it’s one and the same after you left the other day, Annie.”

“What? Why didn’t you say anything?” Annette whines.

“I haven’t seen you.” She smiles and takes a sip of her own tea, contemplating her next words. “I admit, I only thought it was a story. But it’s… compelling.”

The three of them watch in silence as Mercedes takes another measured sip.

“I was thinking that, perhaps, we should look for answers within the cards.”

Annette and Lysithea both blanch. Annette begins stuttering.

“Is — is that necessary, Mercie?”

She nods. “Yes, I do believe so. The cards see things we cannot; they speak to those we cannot. It’s the next logical step.”

“The cards,” Felix says flatly.

“Oh, yes.” Mercedes sets her cup down. “I believe you’ll like them, Felix, if you only give them a try.”

Fuck it. Whatever. He wants to know.

“Fine.”

Annette and Lysithea both look at him in disbelief. 

“What?” he snaps.

“You’re evil,” Annette breathes. He snorts. Mercedes shakes her head and turns from her seat on a cushion on the floor to retrieve a small box off a shelf.

“The cards aren’t evil, Annie,” she explains patiently, “They’re simply misunderstood. Shall we begin?”

Felix watches, equal parts impatient, disbelieving, and hopeful as Mercedes opens the box and retrieves a deck of oblong cards, setting them on a scarf on the table in front of her and lighting a candle on either side, all at an even pace.

“I must ask that we all work together,” Mercedes says. The three of them are giving her their full attention. She smiles. “Please, take a moment to envision the Archbishop and The Saint Byleth.”

“What do they look like?” Annette asks.

“It doesn’t matter, Annie. Simply envision what you imagine in your heart. Tapestries depict her as a beautiful woman with long green hair and green eyes; you may fill in the rest with whatever you believe in.”

Felix doesn’t get it. Annette and Lysithea don’t, either.

“Just try.”

Annette nods and furrows her brows together. Lysithea looks down at her hands. Felix sighs and closes his eyes. An image fills itself in before him: a woman, shorter than him with wide green eyes and an expressionless face. She shifts back and forth on her feet and, as his mental image fills itself in, he realizes he’s imagined a so-called Saint in some fucking  _ hideous _ clothes. Her hair isn’t even that long. 

“Are you all envisioning her?”

“I… don’t know,” Annette says. Felix thinks he’ll lose the image if he opens his eyes, so he doesn’t. “I’m doing my best.”

“That’s good enough.” Mercedes clears her throat and Felix hears her shuffle cards. The glossy, thick paper rubs against itself and this supposed Saint Byleth looks around the inside of Felix’s eyelids vacantly.

“There,” Mercedes’ voice finally comes. “Felix, you may open your eyes.”

She hasn’t seem to have done anything particularly exciting. Lysithea and Annette’s eyes are trained on the single card on the table in front of her. Annette glances up at Felix.

“She chose it at random,” she explains, “I watched.”

Felix grunts. This has to be stupid. It has to be nonsense.

Mercedes smiles.

“I chose nothing at random,” she says serenely. “This card asked to be drawn, and I drew it. Whatever is speaking to us knows exactly what it wants to say.”

Felix doesn’t miss the nervous way Annette shivers at the word  _ whatever. _

“Well?” he asks. “What does it say?”

There’s no flourishing, no sparkling magic. Just Mercedes turning a card over and humming at whatever it is she sees. Annette and Lysithea lean over the table to get a better look. Felix leans, too.

“Fascinating,” Mercedes breathes out.

“What does that mean?” Annette asks excitedly. 

“The Wheel of Fortune.” Her voice is breathy and full of wonder. “Fate. Destiny.”

“What does that  _ mean, _ though?” Felix asks sharply.

“It means,” she says, “The cycle of time and fate. It means great changes are coming.”

On the card is an intricate illustration of a woman with long, flowing green hair wearing a soft smile and a golden crown. Haloing her head is a circle lined with runes Felix can’t read, and all around her is a deep navy sky with golden stars.

“Mercie,” Annette says, her eyes glued to the card, “I hate this.”

“Me too,” Lysithea murmurs. Mercedes’ smile grows even wider.

“Oh, I think it’s all very exciting,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> i'm pushing out the first three chapters one after another bc i can't stand having 1/? in my works tab even if i posted the first chapter 36 hours ago
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	3. Claude's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea yells. Dimitri tries to help. Claude goes to the library.

Lysithea adjusts the lamp she’s working under and makes a quick note on a spare sheet of paper in gold gel pen. She’s been working later and later and waking sooner and sooner recently; the dorm beds have never been comfortable, but either from stress or a shitty diet they’ve been harder on her back and hips and she’s having trouble sleeping through the night. She’s not going to complain. More hours in the day means more time for her to research this stupid, stupid church legend.

Her thesis research has gotten wildly out of control; where she was researching the influence of an ancient and largely forgotten religion on the Officers Academy today, now she’s elbow deep in a conspiracy she knows is stupid. Logically, it’s stupid. She shouldn’t be pursuing it. She shouldn’t feel a pull towards this so-called Saint Byleth.

“It’s just curiosity,” she mutters to herself. “Curiosity is natural. Everyone’s curious.”

Her roommate shuffles around in her bed and stills. She makes sure the curtains closing off the space she’s crafted under her loft bed are shut tight and looks back to the tome in front of her.

Three more days with the same book she’s scoured front to back several times hasn’t given her much more information. It’s the same prophecy, the same timeline, the same omens, and nothing to confirm whether Felix is a reincarnated holy warrior or not. Or Dimitri. She’s not close to Dimitri, though, and she figures if Felix is or isn’t a holy warrior, well, Dimitri will be the same.

She doesn’t find anything new in the tome and hardly adds to her notes when her roommate rises several hours later. Lysithea yanks her curtains back, causing Bernadetta to jump.

“Wh — what?!” she cries as if this isn’t a regular occurrence.

“If you had to find out whether or not one of your friends was reincarnated as part of an ancient prophecy, what would you do?”

Bernadetta stares. And she whispers, “You’ve gone crazy.”

_ “I have not!” _ Lysithea snaps and she yanks the curtains shut. Bernadetta runs out of the room and slams the door shut. Good. Wait, no, not good. Shit.

She slams the book shut and follows after Bernadetta to apologize.

“Wait!” she shouts as she pulls a sweater over her pajamas, “I’m sorry!”

* * *

Lysithea is hardly conscious by the time she’s finished with her first class. Most of the undergrads see the bags under her eyes and understand the unspoken warning, but she’s cornered by four freshmen who really, really need to learn about boundaries.

She catches Claude’s eye through the bodies of her too tall students. The asshole is smirking at her, enjoying her pain. She tries her best to answer every question with thoughtfulness and patience but she can only hear the same question so many times before she snaps.

“Three of you have already asked!” She stomps her foot. “Talk to each other and figure it out!”

The freshmen look between one another in varying degrees of shock, anger, and maybe hurt feelings. She doesn’t stay to find out. She speeds to Claude and mimics his stance, crossing her arms and making her face look all stupid.

“Well, well, well,” he shifts his weight, “If it isn’t my little squirt.”

“Claude, I will  _ end _ you.”

“That wouldn’t be any fun, would it?”

She rolls her eyes, grabs him by the arm, and stomps out of that stupid, stinky lecture hall. He allows her to drag him down the hall, up some stairs, past a massive row of windows, all the way to a quiet, out of the way corner of the school where they can sit at a small table and talk.

“What?” She snaps after she throws herself into a chair. “You haven’t looked at me like that since you heard about — since  _ you know what.” _

His smirk, if possible, grows even wider and more devilish.

“I just thought you’d be interested in who I met on our little trip.” He leans forward and rests his chin in his entwined fingers. Lysithea groans. He’s not gonna share unless she makes him.

“I don’t care,” she snips.

Claude says nothing. He watches. He waits.

_ Ugh. _

“Fine. Who did you meet on your little trip, Claude.”

“Ha, funny you should ask!” He waves his hand in a stupid flourish. “You see, Squirt, myself and the just  _ lovely _ Edelgard and Dimitri, we were all sent on a bonding trip! You already know this, of course, with some of the knights and Professor, uh, I don’t remember. Never got his name.”

Lysithea rests her forehead in her hands and groans.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter, he’s gone.”

“What do you mean he’s  _ gone.” _

“I don’t know, he’s just gone!”

“Okay, but where did he  _ go?” _

He shrugs. “Into the woods.”

She narrows her eyes at him. He continues as if this isn’t incredibly strange and suspicious.

“So, you know, it was the dream team, doing a team building exercise in the woods with a bunch of knights and some guy who’s not a professor anymore.”

She drags her hands down her face.

“And wouldn’t you know it, a group of bandits attacked us!  _ Us! _ Three completely harmless world leaders. Can you believe it?”

“Stupid idea to send you off on something together,” Lysithea mumbles. 

“Ah, but if they hadn’t I never would’ve met the hero of this story!” Claude winks. “I’m sure you’re  _ dying _ to know who it is.”

“Claude, I am going to kill you.”

“You’re definitely scarier than a bandit troupe armed to the teeth.”

_ “Claude, I have shit to do.” _

He nods thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t! I have plenty of time to tell this story.”

She stares, furious, her clenched fist shaking as she tries to contain her impatience. Claude takes his time stretching out his back, then his shoulders, then his legs, then his —

“Fine. I’ll ask El.” Lysithea stands and storms off, leaving Claude to do his stupid, stupid exercises.  _ He _ may have 50 hours in a day, but she doesn’t.

* * *

“She… she what?”

Dimitri smiles apologetically in the doorway to his shared apartment with El.

“She had to go back to her uncle,” he explains, “I really am very sorry, Lysithea. You have her pager, correct?”

She suppresses a long, loud groan.

“Yes, but I don’t  _ have _ a pager!” She takes a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. Getting angry with Dimitri never goes how anyone wants it to. “Can you just page her for me? Tell her I’m looking for her? And that it’s important?”

He nods. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Lysithea?”

She considers this. Dimitri was there with Claude and El and she doubts they know anything he doesn’t.

“Actually, yeah.” He stands up straighter. “Claude said something happened on your trip but he was being a huge dick about it. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Oh! Oh, was Claude telling you about Byleth and Byleth?”

Her brain jumps and her thoughts get far, far ahead of her. She sputters as she tries to get her words in order. Dimitri waits patiently, if a little concerned.

“Did you just say  _ Byleth and Byleth?” _

He nods fervently. “Oh, yes! It’s quite strange, really, that someone would give their twins the same name; especially someone as prolific as the Blade Breaker, himself. I’m sure he has his reasons, but…”

“But?”

“It… hah, I’m sorry, it just feels like I’m missing something, but I’m certain I’m not.” He shakes his head and laughs at himself. “My apologies, Lysithea. Would you like to hear the full story? I have time.”

She glances through the doorway behind Dimitri. It’s bright, welcoming, tidy, and kind of stinky. She wrinkles her nose involuntarily.

“No thank you, I’m in a bit of a hurry.” She forces a smile on and tries really hard not to notice how crestfallen Dimitri looks. “I’ll tell Felix you said hi, though!”

That has the intended effect of brightening him up. “Oh, thank you! Have a lovely day, Lysithea.”

She waves goodbye and hurries to the elevator. Once inside she leans against the cool metal wall and exhales, long and slow.

“I have to ask Claude,” she mutters to herself. “I have to. I have to ask Claude. I have to ask Claude.”

* * *

She finds Claude in the library.

“Claude!!” she hisses from the door. He doesn’t look up. “Claude! Over here!”

_ “Shh!” _ Tomas’s  _ shh _ doesn’t lack pity. She waves him over.

“I need you to get Claude for me,” she whispers once he’s close enough. He smiles, soft yet stern.

“Claude is quite busy,” he tells her, “Perhaps you should speak to him later.”

She shakes her head. “I need to talk to him now. It’s about what happened on his trip.”

“Oh, yes, he mentioned something about that.” Tomas nods and considers his next words. “I pulled some literature for him, in fact. I’m sure once he’s done reading he’ll have much more to share.”

She puts on her best pleading eyes. All she manages to do is make Tomas chuckle.

“Now, Lysithea,” he chastises, “You will have to be a little more patient. Remember, your ban only extends until next week. Then you may harass your friends in the library all you want — at a reasonable volume, of course.”

“Fine,” she grumbles. She doesn’t have time to fight a lost battle.

* * *

She finds Annette pretty quickly.

“Why can’t you leave me alone!?” she snaps. Lysithea snorts.

“This is all your fault,” she points out, “We wouldn’t even know about this if you hadn’t opened that dumb blog.”

“Shut up about the dumb blog!”

“Shut up, it’s a good thing you found it.”

Annette throws herself ass-first onto her bed. “Doubt it.”

“Look, I just got done talking to Claude —”

_ “Ugh, _ and you believe everything Claude says?”

“— and Dimitri —”

_ “That’s even worse!” _

“And,” she takes a deep breath, “They met a pair of Byleths.”

Annette screams, anguished.

“You’ll take any shred of evidence that this stupid thing is real!” she cries.

Lysithea stares in silence. The words sweep around the room and settle on her shoulders, on Annette’s bed, in Annette’s sweaters, and on Ingrid’s disgusting desk. Finally, she speaks.

“What crawled up your ass and died?”

Annette’s arms tighten around herself and she looks down. “This is stupid,” she forces out. Lysithea considers shaking her by the shoulders.

Lysithea shakes her by the shoulders.

_ “Do you know what this means?!” _ she cries,  _ “Annette, this is fucked up! We might have a very serious problem here!” _

She’s on her ass before she fully registers that Annette pushed her off.

“Ghosts aren’t real, Lysithea!” she yells, “And neither are prophecies!”

“Lots of things aren’t real!” Lysithea snaps back. “Just because — just because it defies logic —”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath in, and out. 

“That’s the problem, Lysithea,” Annette’s voice is almost a whisper. “It defies all logic. It can’t exist. I’m sorry, I — I got excited about that blog and the forum, but I’ve had time to think about it, and there’s no way it’s real.”

Lysithea throws a hand down on the floor between her legs. “Prove it.”

“Prove… what? Lysithea?”

She sits up, smug and straight. “Prove it’s not real.”

Annette looks down on her, on the floor and on what she’s certain isn’t the losing side. “You can’t prove something isn’t real,” she hisses matter-of-factly, “You can only prove it is.”

“And,” Lysithea continues, “After experiments and collecting data, if you can’t prove it’s real, chances are it’s not, right?”

She holds her arms around her tighter. “Yeah.”

“And all the experiments and data say..?”

Annette huffs and looks to the side. Lysithea waits patiently for her to see the light.

“I’ve been having dreams about my dad,” she says instead.

Lysithea’s jaw doesn’t drop by pure force of will.

“Your dad? What does —”

“I was talking to Felix about this,” her words tumble out in a hurry now, “About… they’re just weird. It’s like his ghost is back to haunt me.”

“Oh.”

“...Lysithea?”

She waits a second before responding.

“Yeah?”

A deep, grounding breath from Annette.

“I don’t want the prophecy to be real.”

“...What?”

“And neither does Felix.”

“Annette, you have to explain. I don’t want it to be real, either.” 

She chews her lip. Lysithea turns her attention to her — ugh, dirty — nails until she’s ready to continue. She’s never heard Annette talk about her father before.

“Do you ever have weird dreams?” Annette’s voice is small. She’s trying to make her body even smaller. “They’re so real, but you know they aren’t. You talk to people you know inside out, in places that feel like home, but you’ve never been there and — and maybe they aren’t the people you really know.”

Lysithea does not say she has no idea what Annette’s talking about. She hums, instead.

“Lysithea, what if they  _ are _ real?”

“What? Why would they be real? That doesn’t m —”

Her mouth drops open in a silent little  _ oh. _

“What if — what if I really did speak to my father in front of an altar, and maybe he really did refuse to even face me? I — I can’t —”

Annette sobs and Lysithea scrambles to her side on the bed and wraps her in her arms. She strokes her hair, gently and calmly, and rocks back and forth until the shaking in Annette’s shoulders slows. Once she thinks she’ll be able to respond, Lysithea continues.

“You said Felix has these dreams, too?”

_ “Don’t _ tell him I told you.”

“Annette…” She sighs. “I have to know these things. How long have you been having these dreams?”

Annette shrugs. “Forever, really. I’ve only had the dreams about my dad since, uh, since we found that blog.”

Lysithea clicks her tongue. “I don’t like that.”

Annette shakes her head. “Me, neither.”

“Annette, I  _ need _ to talk to Felix. Did he tell you what his dreams were about?”

“No.”

“We have to find him. He has to tell us. Annette…”

Annette looks up to Lysithea’s face for the first time since she came in her room. Her eyes are red and swollen. “You think it’s real, don’t you?”

Lysithea nods. Annette sighs.

“Stupid omens,” she grumbles as she rubs the tear tracks from her face. “Let’s look for him. He should’ve gotten out of class a couple hours ago.”

* * *

Felix is not in his room. Neither is Claude, but he’s unlikely to leave the library until much, much later.

Felix is not in the dining hall.

Felix is not in the library. Neither are they.

“Where does he even go during the day?!” Lysithea cries out. “This is so stupid!”

“I knoooow,” Annette whines. She hasn’t fully recovered from earlier. “I don’t even know where Ingrid is, she usually knows where Felix is.”

“I haven’t seen her.” Lysithea clicks her tongue. “Where would —”

_ “The stables!” _

Lysithea stares, one, two, and she grabs Annette by the arm and rushes to the stables.

As expected, Ingrid’s there, brushing through the coat of her shining white pegasus. Lysithea physically cringes when she sees, just beyond Ingrid, Sylvain caring for his own horse.

“Ingrid!” Annette shouts, indifferent to the disaster she’s about to inflict, “Have you seen Felix?”

Ingrid turns. “Hm?”

Sylvain also turns, but shittily. “Hm?”

“You know, Felix? The guy you’ve known since you were kids?”

“What do you need him for?” Ingrid’s brows furrow together, “He’s been in a bit of a mood, if I’m being honest.”

“Ah, Ingrid, he’s always in a mood!” Sylvain laughs, leans over Ingrid’s pegasus, and is immediately shaken off. “Can’t win ‘em all. But no, I’m surprised you’re bothering to warn them.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “I don’t know any better than you why he hates you so much.”

Sylvain pouts.

“Ugh, you two, just tell us where he is!” Lysithea snaps. 

“You’ll attract more flies with honey,” Ingrid mutters just loud enough for her to hear. Lysithea bristles up and Annette covers her mouth and speaks for the both of them.

“It’s really important, Ingrid. Please?”

“You know,  _ I _ could help —”

_ “No!” _ Lysithea shouts through Annette’s hand.

“— you out. I know his usual haunts.”

“That would be just lovely, Sylvain,” Annette says, “Thank you. You’re an excellent friend.”

Ingrid scoffs.

“Give me a moment, would you? Gotta board ‘er up.”

Ingrid’s completely ice while Sylvain finishes whatever horse shit he was taking care of. Lysithea glares at Annette. Annette pretends she doesn’t notice any of this.

“Alright, ladies!” Sylvain announces as he leaves the stable. Ingrid scoffs again. “It’s time for us to go on a Felix hunt. Where’s the last place you saw him?”

“I got lunch with him,” Annette says. Sylvain’s mouth twists into a devious smile.

“Oh ho! Lunch! I didn’t know the two of you —”

_ “Absolutely not.” _

“Right, keep it on the down low, got it.” Annette throws a blunt blade of wind at his face, fucking up his perfectly tousled frosted-tipped hair. He musses it up some more. “If you got him for lunch, and we got him for lecture, then he’s either in his room —”

“Checked.”

“— in the library —”

“Done,” Lysithea scoffs.

“— or he’s being king of the nerds down at the training grounds. And by process of elimination…” He raises his eyebrows.

“Thanks, bye!” Lysithea shouts much too loud for how close they are, and she drags Annette after her again. 

“Let me go!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Lysithea does not let her go. She runs and pulls Annette along for what’s probably forever with how giant campus is and burst through the doors of the nerd zone. She leans against a pillar to catch her breath. She chokes on her own throat. She doesn’t have time for this.

“Felix!” She gets out between pants, “What are those dreams Annette’s talking about!?”

Felix drops his sword — fuck, of course he has a fucking sword — and spins around. “Shut the fuck up!” he hisses.

“HEY FELIX!” The doors open again and Sylvain’s voice booms through the hall, “LYSITHEA AND ANNETTE ARE LOOKING FOR YOU!”

Lysithea watches Felix’s hairline recede.

“Yeah, I fucking noticed!” he snaps back.

_ “What are the dreams, Felix!”  _

“I said to shut the  _ fuck _ up!”

“Dreams!” Sylvain saunters between them all, “Let’s all talk about our dreams! Felix, you start.”

“I dream of the day you leave me alone,” he snaps.

Sylvain clicks his tongue. “Annette?”

“I dream about my dad.”

He considers this. “Depressing. Lysithea?”

“I dream about you getting the hell out of here so I can talk to Felix!”

“Tough crowd!” He rests his hands behind his head and looks between them all. “What’s the matter? Today’s a great day! We’ve got two new classmates, the sun is out, uh, Felix is here —”

“Do you  _ ever _ shut up?”

“Hang on,” Lysithea snaps, “Two new classmates? Classes started weeks ago.”

He shrugs. “Lady Rhea gave the twin mercenary’s kids special permission or something. I dunno. All I know is there’s two new faces.” Lysithea doesn’t want to dissect the look in his eye and hates herself when she does, anyway. Ugh.

“Mercenary’s kids? What?” Annette asks.

“You know, the mercenary that saved Dimitri! And Edelgard and Claude, I guess.” He relaxes into his own hands on the back of his own head. “His kids helped too.”

Felix rolls his eyes and finally steps into the conversation. “No.” It’s directed at Lysithea and Annette. “Stop it. Stop following that train of thought. I can see it forming. Stop.”

“Hm?” Sylvain looks between them all again. 

_ “You know this is serious, Felix Fraldarius,” _ Lysithea hisses. Ever the brat, Felix throws his stupid sword into the storage bin.

“Whatever, just get me away from him,” he mutters. Lysithea and Annette hurry after him, leaving a very relaxed-looking Sylvain in the training grounds. 

“Why  _ are _ you so rude to him?” Lysithea asks. He scowls even further.

“Who cares? You’re no ray of sunshine, either.”

They go all the way to a small neglected courtyard behind Felix’s dorm and sit around a table boxed in by overgrown shrubs and flowers. Felix looks around and, seemingly satisfied with whatever he finds, sighs.

“They’re fucked up,” Felix breaks the silence, “The twins, I mean. Who calls both their kids Byleth?”

“Someone tied into a prophecy,” Lysithea mutters. Annette shakes her head.

“That’s not how it works and you know it,” she says.

“Makes more sense than the alternative,” Lysithea mutters, “Go on, Felix.”

“Have either of you seen them?”

“No,” they say in unison.

“Consider yourself lucky.” He sighs and leans back in his chair. “It’s like they see nothing. Feel nothing. It’s unsettling. I hate being around them.”

“What?!” A million thoughts rattle around in Lysithea’s skull, all vying for attention and screaming their importance. She opens her mouth to grill him more but Annette actually has her shit together and speaks first.

“Okay, Felix, we can get back to that later. Now, please don’t be mad.” Felix stops forming his tirade and glares at Annette. “Okay, you’re gonna be mad. I told Lysithea about that thing I told you about.”

He narrows his eyes. “What thing?”

“You know, the thing.”

Lysithea groans. “Please just talk! You’re adults! Just talk to each other!”

“You know!” Annette looks around and whispers,  _ “The dreams?” _

Felix stares. “Yeah. I fucking heard. Why the hell did you bring that up in front of  _ him?” _

“Does it matter?!”

_ “Yes! It does!” _

“Stop! Stop it!” Lysithea flaps her hand between their faces. “Knock that off! Felix, please, Annette told me about her dad dreams. I need to hear about yours.”

He turns his glare to her. “And what dreams have you had.”

“None! This isn’t about me!”

“This has a lot to do with you,” Annette mumbles.

“I’m not involved in this! I just found this!”

“I found it,” Annette mumbles quieter.

“This is so stupid. Why are you taking dreams seriously, anyway?” Felix snaps.

_ “Because,” _ Lysithea says, “If this has anything to do with a possible war I need to know! Do you want a war, Felix? Do you?”

Felix crosses his arms and looks away.

“That’s what I thought!”

“Felix,  _ please,” _ Annette’s stooped to begging, “I told you about my dreams. Tell me about yours.”

“That doesn’t work if Lysithea isn’t sharing.”

“I don’t have anything to share!”

“Please, Felix?” Annette fixes him with her most pathetic pout. “For me?”

Lysithea watches a miracle take place in front of her in the form of Felix’s entire stupid face softening. She remembers why she doesn’t hate his guts.

“Fine,” he sighs, defeated. “Keep this to yourselves. I don’t want… ugh, I don’t want to deal with it.”

Annette leans forward. Lysithea sits up straighter in her chair. He looks between the two of them, rolls his eyes, and begins.

“I’ve had dreams for a long time.”

“No shit,” Lysithea says.

“They’re different from normal dreams,” he continues like nothing happened, “I get those, too. But in these dreams I’m in a fancy, grand, empty mansion. Sometimes there’s someone else, I’ve seen Dimitri in them once or twice, but they’re just… hollow.” He takes a deep breath in. Lysithea realizes she’s been gripping the table and relaxes her hands. “It’s worse than a normal nightmare. I don’t know how to describe it. But, uh, that’s it.”

Lysithea has hardly begun processing his explanation when Annette starts speaking again.

“Hey, Felix,” her voice is uncharacteristically soft, “I’ve had dreams like that, too. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s different from normal dreams. I don’t think you’re alone in that.”

He shakes his head. “Maybe not. I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain this.”

Annette cocks her head. “What do you mean? Can you try?”

Felix’s hands grip his own arms tighter. “Sylvain used to be in those dreams, too.”

“O — oh? Why isn’t he anymore?”

“Fuck if I know,” he snaps and then shakes his head, “Sorry. He, uh, he stopped being in those dreams after I met him.”

“...What do you mean after you met him?” Annette and Lysithea exchange a look and Annette continues, “Was he in your dreams before you met him?”

There’s a pause. Felix nods.

“How is that — what? How is that possible?” Lysithea asks.

He shrugs.

“Wait, hang on,” Annette’s brow is furrowed in thought, “I forgot about this part. I thought I was crazy, but Professor Hanneman brought me into one of the old monastery buildings in undergrad and it was like I was back in the dream. I even knew where some things were and what some rooms were used for. It was really weird.”

Lysithea looks between the two of them. “You saw the future,” she confirms, “In your dreams.”

Annette glares at her. “You know that’s not possible.”

“And it wasn’t the future,” Felix snaps, “If I marry that oaf —”

_ “Marry?!” _

Felix sneers at the two of them. “Shut up, both of you.”

“You dreamed about being  _ married _ to him before you even met him?!” Annette cries.

“I said shut up!”

“Is that why you hate him so much?”

Felix closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I won’t deny,” he forces out, “Being a stupid, lovestruck seven-year-old.”

Lysithea opens her mouth to respond and doesn’t get the chance.

“And I won’t deny that those  _ fucking dreams _ started up again when Annette’s did.”

Annette gasps. “That’s why you won’t be in the same room as him right now!”

He throws his hands up. “You don’t have to say it out loud, Annette!”

“Wow.” Annette’s eyes sparkle. “It’s like you’re soulmates.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Lysithea leaps over the table and grabs Felix’s arm before he can even stand all the way. “It doesn’t mean you’re soulmates! It just — you know — might have been real!”

“Yeah, I’m definitely leaving.”

Annette runs around the table and grabs his other arm. “Nope! Nope! If I have to live with my own father refusing to look at me, you have to live with that!”

Felix’s face darkens. “Fine,” he mutters.

They all stand, awkwardly clutching Felix, while the weight of what they shared sinks in. A little map connects the dots from  _ Shield _ to  _ Sylvain _ and Lysithea sinks just a little bit deeper. How far does this even go?

“We have to talk to Claude,” she decides. Annette and Felix both snap to her. “He was in the library,” she explains, “Tomas said — what did Tomas say? — he said he was  _ pulling literature _ related to his story about his trip. Holy shit, do you think Tomas knows?”

Annette wrinkles her nose. “Why would Tomas know?”

“I don’t know! Tomas knows everything!”

“He does not!”

Lysithea and Annette work in tandem and steer Felix toward his own room, bickering over Tomas’s innate wisdom and  _ how old is that guy, anyway? _ They’re so engrossed in their debate they fail to even comment on the state of Felix’s dorm and simply throw themselves in a pile on his unmade bed. 

They’ve fallen asleep by the time the door slams shut.

“Damn, Felix,” Claude whistles, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know you’re handsome. But this?”

Lysithea lobs a handful of sleepy miasma at his face. He dodges and doesn’t even trip over the biohazards on his floor.

“How rude,” he says with a sparkle in his eye, “And here you were begging to see me mere hours ago. Yes, Tomas told me.”

“Claude, we have something to tell you.” She chooses to ignore his bait. He throws —  _ wow, _ that’s a lot of books — in a pile onto his bed and sorts through them one by one.

“Is it about that prophecy you’ve been obsessed with?” he asks, his back to her.

“Yes, asshole, it’s about that prophecy.”

“Great!” He picks up a stack of loose-leaf paper covered in unorganized scribbles, “So, about that, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“The good news is it’s fake and we can all go back to sleep. Thanks.” Felix rubs his eye with the butt of his palm. “Why are we talking about this right now? What time is it?”

“Oh, it’s like two.”

_ “Two?!” _ Annette cries. “In the morning?!”

He nods. “In the morning.”

“What were you up until two in the morning looking for?!”

“Well, I was looking for the good news and the bad news.”

“Great. Please share,” Lysithea says, “We can swap news.”

“Right.” It’s now that Lysithea realizes Claude is uncharacteristically serious; his face lacks his typical shit-eating grin and he’s moving with a laser-focus she rarely sees him have. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

“The bad news,” Lysithea immediately says.

“That sucks. The good news is you haven’t been wasting your time. Something fucky is going on.”

Felix and Annette groan in tandem. Lysithea’s heart rate quickens.

“So it’s real?” she asks.

“I can’t confirm or deny that,” he says, “But either someone’s pulling some strings or history’s truly repeating itself. Look — Tomas pulled some ancient books from the archives. I forged Seteth’s signature —” Annette gasps, “— on a permission form. Told him I was building a syllabus for a class I’m TAing next semester.”

“Claude, you didn’t,” Annette says.

“I did. I was curious. And I don’t care for what I found.”

Silence stretches in the small room. Claude shuffles through his notes and Felix, Lysithea, and Annette remain crowded together on Felix’s bed.

“How about we go first,” Annette suggests. Claude raises his eyebrows and looks between the three of them over his notes.

“Yeah, you do that,” he says, “I have a lot to go through here.”

“Felix and I have been having weird dreams,” she jumps right in. Felix groans. “We’ve had them forever, but they’ve gotten stronger recently. Weirder. I met my dad in mine, and Felix —”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he snaps. She shuts her mouth.

“What they’re trying to say,” Lysithea says exasperatedly, “Is they’re having dreams —”

“I know what dreams they’re talking about,” he says and quickly follows with, “They feel real, right? But you always know it’s a dream?”

Annette nods. Felix nods but is much more reserved about it.

“I thought they were stress dreams,” he continues, “Lysithea, how likely is it the prophecy is real?”

She bites her lip. “Not likely at all.”

“And yet?”

“And yet,” she confirms.

He sweeps his eyes over his notes one last time and says, “I found old tales, reports from the monastery, biographies, registers, and I found, uh, a lot of familiar names.”

The tension in the room could snap with the perfect pull. They all wait silently for Claude to continue.

“There was Felix Fraldarius,” he gestures to Felix, “Advisor to the king. Major general in the War of Unification.”

Felix closes his eyes.

“There was Annette Dominic, also a major general in the War of Unification. Later took a position at the monastery as a professor.”

Annette rests her head in her hands.

“There was Lysithea von Ordelia,  _ also _ a major general. Not a lot of information after the war.”

_ “What?!” _ Lysithea cries.  _ “Me?!” _

He nods. “Yeah. You.”

_ “Why?” _

He shrugs. “There were a lot of major generals — Sylvain Gautier, Lorenz Gloucester, Hilda Goneril,” Lysithea blinks. Those are a lot of names. “King Dimitri headed the whole thing, Archbishop Byleth worked as his tactician, apparently.”

“Wait, wait,” Lysithea shakes her head, “Archbishop Byleth  _ made _ the prophecy.”

“Yes, that’s what you said.”

“That’s what the book said!”

“I have all the books Tomas pulled here,” he continues, “I, uh, also found reports and legends that I’ve definitely dreamt about.”

“Welcome to hell,” Annette mutters.

“Thank you,” he says, “Now, call me crazy —”

“You’re crazy,” Felix groans.

“— but some of these tales reference a dashing man named Claude von Riegan, born in the year 1162.”

“I hate this,” Annette breathes.

“Me too. You said the prophecy almost certainly isn’t real, Lysithea?”

She nods with a sinking feeling in her gut.

“Good, because I don’t think I can live up to a past life reputation of the Unification King of Almyra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for readinggggggggg
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	4. Byleth & Byleth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette meets the harbinger of doom. Mercie cleans Felix & Claude's dorm. Sylvain gets it.

Annette’s head is spinning and spinning and spinning and it definitely, almost certainly, probably has nothing to do with waking up at 2am and reading frustratingly dense historical texts and primary documents from the Church of Seiros itself up until her 10am class, leaving Claude and Felix behind to fall asleep face-first into the ancient texts. Her feet drag and she knows she looks like hell but she could barely tear herself away for class, let alone to put on makeup. 

“Wow, Nette,” Hapi’s eyes take her in slowly, “You look like shit.”

Annette falls into her chair and lays her head on her desk in a desperate bid to take a power nap. Hapi pats her on the back.

“Oh, lovely,” Linhardt’s familiar sleepy voice barely registers before he seats himself on Annette’s other side and also leans forward, hands folded under his head as a makeshift pillow.

“I can’t believe none of you are even a little excited!” Annette stuffs her fingers in her ears at the sound of Caspar’s lovely voice, “A new professor took over this class after the last one died! I bet they’re even stronger!”

_“Died?”_ Annette, who is very nosy, unplugs her ear on the side Hapi sits, “What do you mean _died?”_

“You know, he died!”

“Let’s all quiet down, please,” Linhardt says very reasonably.

“Fine! Don’t come crying to me when you feel left out!”

Annette drifts in and out of consciousness for the few minutes before class starts in earnest, half processing words like _tactics_ and _position_ and _leadership._ She’s normally eager to join the discussion, even considers it when she hears Leonie say something buck wild, and then sleep takes her again until a sudden unnatural silence screams in her ears and she jolts up.

Taking his place at the front of the hall is a man who can’t be much older than herself. It’s not _that_ unusual for a grad student to teach a class to other grad students, she supposes, though she doesn’t think she’s seen this guy before. A tall, dark haired, angry looking dude seems pretty conspicuous.

Everyone, including her, waits in rapt attention.

“Hello,” he says. There’s a pause until Caspar yells _hello!_ and a chorus of giggles erupts around the hall. He stands, stone still, and only speaks again when the room returns to silence. “I have been assigned to your class as head of the, um, Authority department. I am unsure of what exactly that means.”

The laughter that follows is much less reserved than before.

“It says here,” he lifts a manila folder stuffed full of documents, “That this has something to do with leading battalions, as well as rallying your allies. I do not know what your previous professor taught you. I do not know who any of you are.”

Hapi leans into Annette’s space and murmurs, “I get the feeling this guy barely knows where he is.”

Annette’s not sure if she’s delirious or if Hapi’s right.

“My name is Byleth.” Annette’s heart stops beating in her chest, stutters, and restarts in a frenzy. “My sister is also named Byleth. You may call me whatever you want. I do not care.”

Lorenz raises his hand. Byleth stares at him until he speaks.

“What exactly are your credentials?” he asks.

Byleth shrugs.

Leonie raises her hand. Byleth nods to her. “Professor Byleth, is it true you’re the son of Jeralt? _The_ Jeralt?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Jeralt, _the_ Blade Breaker?”

“Yes.”

“Wait!” Caspar leaps to his feat. “The guy who led the knights? That guy?!”

Byleth blinks. “Yes.”

“Holy guacamole!”

Hapi suppresses a snort.

“Holy shit, this is amazing,” she says through the hand covering her mouth.

Annette nods. “Yeah, that’s a word for it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t like him, Annette? Seems like he has a lot to say.”

Annette looks him up and down one more time; Byleth stands in front of the room, facing the class straight on, arms at his sides and legs shoulder width apart. He doesn’t seem to be looking at any one person or place, but rather like he sees through everything and into time itself. She swallows.

“He seems, uh,” she considers her next word carefully, “Nice.”

“Um, professor?” Dimitri raises his hand in the front row, “Would you like some help? It seems — not that I’m implying anything about your intelligence! — it just seems like you don’t know what to do. Which is fine! But perhaps, ah, if you have any questions —”

“I have several questions,” Byleth cuts in.

A pause.

“Ah, great! Ask any question you would like, Professor!”

He nods, then gestures to the class. “How does this even work?”

Even Caspar is struck speechless. Annette looks from Dimitri, to the harbinger of war at the front of the room, to Hapi, who glances back to her at the same time.

“He’s a chatty one,” she mutters. Annette covers her mouth to suppress a snort.

Dimitri stands hesitantly and walks, terribly stilted, to the front of the room. Whatever he says to Byleth is lost in the chatter that ripples across the room. Linhardt curls up in his chair and falls asleep. Annette wishes she was him.

“I have a feeling today’s a bust,” Hapi says, “I don’t think chatty up front understands a thing Didi’s saying.”

Annette looks and, just as Hapi said, Byleth looks completely clueless.

“Why was this guy made a professor?” she asks. Hapi shrugs.

“I heard it was nepotism,” Ferdinand swivels in his seat to face Annette and Hapi and fiddles with his hair while he talks. “Headmaster Rhea knows his father. It’s like Leonie said, the Blade Breaker himself raised him. Not that it was a good decision,” he mutters at the end.

“Perfect,” Hapi sighs, “Another cog who doesn’t know what they’re doing. We needed more of those.”

“A cog?”

“Oh, come off it, Annette, you know what I mean.” Hapi rests her chin in her hand. Ferdinand raises his eyebrows. “Nobody working at this school is competent. I’m only here for the scholarship.”

Ferdinand nods. “I’m afraid I agree. My father attended, and his father before that. I have raised my objections many times but, ah, they insist.

Hapi whistles. “They got you, too.”

“Nobody got anybody!” Annette slams her palms on her desk and seethes. 

“You can just do something else, you know,” Hapi continues.

“Things are rarely so simple,” Ferdinand retorts, “I’m sure you understand.”

She shrugs. “Not really.”

The conversation, and Annette’s focus, are interrupted by Caspar leaning over her desk and squinting at the front. Annette tries to push him off but the man’s a human brick.

“Why are you doing this over me?” she grunts, “You have your own desk!”

“This is a better vantage point,” he says. She’s pretty sure it’s not. “Do you guys see that?”

“See _what?”_

Hapi hums. “You know, Cash, I think I do.”

Annette squints toward the front. She’s not sure if they’re fucking with her or if she’s just tired. “What are you talking about?”

“Hm,” Ferdinand has begun braiding a small section of hair, “How odd.”

_“What?!”_

“There,” Linhardt says, seemingly still asleep, “On his belt.”

Annette squints harder.

“What about it?” she asks, “A lot of people carry swords. Felix always carries a sword.”

_“Is_ it a sword?” Hapi asks, “It looks like a spine.”

“It’s got a handle,” Ferdinand provides.

“And a pointy bit,” Caspar says.

“It looks familiar,” Linhardt’s voice is muffled by his knees, “I can’t quite place it. It’s quite extraordinary, though. Is it carved from bone?”

“Doesn’t sound very sturdy,” Hapi says.

“That’s so cool.” Caspar leaps over Annette’s desk. Annette screams. He leaps over Ferdinand’s desk. He leaps over a few more and talks animatedly to Byleth, gesturing at his weird spine sword the whole time.

“I’m going to bed,” Linhardt decides, “Goodbye.”

Ferdinand opens his mouth to protest but Linhardt has already made his escape. He hums. “Perhaps Linhardt is right.”

“Hey, Ferdie,” Hapi nods to him, “Can I braid your hair?”

He stares, affronted, holding his two small braids, “No!”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself. Nette, you should go, too. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Thanks,” Annette says flatly.

“You do look quite, um, tired,” Ferdinand says.

She scoots her chair back as angrily and spitefully as possible and gathers her things. “Fine. I was thinking about leaving, anyway.”

Hapi nods. “Get some rest. Maybe skiv off the rest of your classes today.”

“I would _never,”_ Annette gasps.

“Yeah, I know.”

With a huff Annette hurries out of the classroom. Now that the excitement of terrible news has caught up with her she’s _exhausted._ Ugh, she can’t pull all-nighters like she used to. 

“Oh, Annie, you look terrible —”

Annette grabs Mercie’s hand as she passes. “It’s bad,” she says. Mercie nods. “It’s really, really bad.”

* * *

Felix and Claude lay dead asleep in their beds. On the floor between them Lysithea sits cross-legged with several books open in front of her and piles of trash shoved to the side. Mercie tuts.

“It’s gotten no better,” she sighs and pulls a plastic bag out of nowhere, “Pardon me, Lysithea, I’m just —”

Lysithea’s hand shoots out to block Mercie from touching the mountain of garbage surrounding her. “Don’t move anything,” she snaps, “You’ll break my focus.”

“Lysithea, if I don’t move this you’re going to fall asleep in it.”

Mercie’s right; Lysithea’s eye bags rival Dimitri’s during midterms. She’s shaking and trying to follow her finger along the page, returning to the same line over and over.

“I’m fine,” she snaps. Mercie hums and picks up the garbage anyway. “I’m in the zone, here. Leave me alone.”

A few minutes later Lysithea has fallen asleep against Felix’s bed.

“Oh no,” Mercie says with her cheek against her palm, “Her neck is going to hurt.”

Annette nods. It feels like she’s moving her head through pudding.

“You should go to your bed.” Mercie kneels down and eases Lysithea to lay flat on her back against the newly cleared floor. “Get some rest, Annie. Whatever this is, it can wait.”

Annette shakes her head.

“Yes, Annie.”

“No!”

The next conscious thought Annette has is that everyone should really just shut the hell up.

“She was weird, I’m telling you…” “...stupid…” “...get my bleach…” “I don’t know…”

“Shut upppp,” Annette moans. There’s a shuffling sound and a warm breeze brushes against her arm. She squints an eye open and screams.

Claude smiles innocently from his position way, way too close to her. “Welcome to the land of the living!” he announces, “Did you have a nice nap?”

“Nap?!” she shoots up and immediately regrets everything that led her to this point, sleeping hunched over Claude’s (freshly cleaned) desk in a room that was a veritable biohazard mere moments ago. “When did it get so clean in here?” she slurs out.

“Mercedes has been cleaning,” Lysithea says. Mercie waves from Felix’s desk directly behind her.

“Wow, Mercie, you work fast.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Mercie says, “I’ve been at it for, oh, four hours or so.”

_“Four hours?!”_

“Yeah, you passed out hard,” Claude says.

“Oh no,” Annette covers her face with her hands, “I missed all my classes.”

“That you did.”

“Lysithea’s the only one that went to any of her classes,” Felix says. She spins in Claude’s chair to face him. “Well, and you went to one, I guess.”

_“Yeah, I did.”_ Four hours of sleep was not enough; she’s a little dizzy, a little confused, but she’s gone on less before and she can make do until bedtime now. “And you’ll never guess who was teaching.”

“Was it other Byleth?” Lysithea asks in a completely flat voice.

_“Other_ Byleth? Look, I know there’s two —”

“I had Byleth this morning,” Lysithea explains, “Apparently she was put in charge of swordfighting.”

“You take _sword_ classes?”

She shrugs. “Manuela told me I have a talent. Why wouldn’t I want to take rounded classes?”

Annette stares as this sinks in. She hasn’t fully processed it when Felix speaks.

“I wish I hadn’t missed class,” he mumbles, “I would’ve liked to spar with her. See if she’s even got the skills or if Headmaster Rhea has her head up her ass.”

Claude laughs. “They both know their stuff,” he says, “It was just them and their dad fighting off an entire bandit troupe. You wouldn’t believe the moves they were pulling off.”

“Wish I was there,” Felix mutters.

“I’m sure you’ll be there next time,” Mercie says placatingly, “Is this keep or toss?”

Felix glances over at the crumpled up receipt. “Toss.”

_“Anyway,”_ Lysithea huffs, “I don’t think she knows anything about a prophecy she supposedly made. I think she’d remember that.”

Annette considers this. “I don’t think my Byleth knows much of anything.”

Mercie hums. Claude snorts.

“She’s — ugh, Felix was right,” Lysithea shivers, “She’s creepy. She knows what she’s talking about, but she’s creepy.”

“Is she a decent teacher?” Claude asks.

“I — I don’t know, I guess? She didn’t really teach us anything.”

“Dimitri had to explain how class works,” Annette says, “He had no idea what was going on. I don’t think they told him what a professor does.”

Claude clicks his tongue. “Why in the world did they get teaching positions? I — shit, I hate to say it, but Headmaster Rhea has to know.”

Annette sighs and slumps in her seat. “Well, she _is_ an immortal beast with scary glowing eyes.”

“She is not,” Lysithea snaps, “There’s no literature indicating that sort of thing even exists.”

“Nothing about this makes sense, Lysithea! There’s no logic to any of this! If this reincarnation stuff is — you know — then _we_ shouldn’t exist.”

_“Agh!”_ Lysithea throws the papers in her hand on the floor in front of her. Claude snatches them back up. “I hate this! I hate all of this!”

“At this point we have to assume everything we read is possible,” Claude says, his smooth voice effectively ending their escalating argument, “Seteth and Headmaster Rhea’s names are also in a lot of these — though Headmaster Rhea is referred to as Archbishop Rhea. I thought Byleth was the archbishop?”

Annette and Lysithea both shrug.

“I’ve only heard of Archbishop Byleth,” Mercie cuts in, “That doesn’t mean she was the only archbishop ever. That would be silly.”

“Silly indeed,” Claude nods

Silence falls. Claude shuffles between the papers. Lysithea seethes. Felix sits completely stiff. Mercie cleans. Annette looks between everyone, waiting for someone to speak up.

“Not to, you know, keep going back to this,” Felix forces out, “But I had another fucking dream.”

Annette and Claude look at him. Lysithea yells again.

“You all have these fucking dreams! My name’s in the reports, too, and I don’t have shit!” 

“You don’t want them,” Felix mutters. Lysithea’s shoulders fall and she seems to collapse into herself.

“You’re right, sorry.”

“Besides,” Felix continues, “Sylvain doesn’t have them either. It’s not just you.”

A pause.

“Sorry, Felix,” Annette says in a tiny voice. He grunts.

“Have you asked?”

Everyone looks to Mercie, who’s leaning against Felix’s clean desk. She taps her cheek in thought. “Sometimes,” she says, “The best place to start is knowing when to ask for help.”

“Mercie, you’re a genius,” Claude says. She smiles. Annette and Lysithea glance at one another. “We should just ask Sylvain! Felix, what do you think?”

“I think that’s a stupid idea.”

“Lovely! How about you two?”

Annette and Lysithea both shrug.

“We should ask more than one person,” Lysithea says, “Also, don’t make me talk to him.”

Claude smirks. “Still not over it, huh?”

“Who hits on someone by offering to be _target practice?!”_

“You really know how to hold a grudge.”

“Perhaps we should get back on track,” Mercie says.

Annette realizes something.

“Wait!” She nearly shouts, “Is Mercie’s name in there?”

Claude nods.

_“Why didn’t you say something?!”_

“I told her while you were asleep,” he says.

“Ugh!” Annette throws her hands up. “Do _you_ have dreams, Mercie? Let’s start with asking you!”

“Annette,” she says evenly, “I’ve told you many times about my past life visions. You already know.”

“...Oh.” Annette struggles to remember. Conversation after conversation over tea and over homework run through her mind, stories about ghosts and cards come to mind. She doesn’t remember anything about Mercie’s dreams.

“It’s okay if you forgot, Annie.” She looks out the window and then back at Annette. “My past life started quite difficult and ended peacefully. You’re in many of my visions, Annie. Felix, as well.”

“And who else?” Claude clicks his pencil and poises himself to take notes.

“Oh, hm. Dimitri, of course, Sylvain, Ashe,” she counts each name off as she goes on, “Seteth’s sister, oh! Seteth, himself, Ingrid, and Dedue.”

Claude scribbles all this down in a small notepad.

“And Byleth, of course. Though she had green hair.”

“Byleth was in your dreams?” Claude asks.

She nods. “She must have been quite wise. Everything she said to me was valuable. She saved our lives many times.”

“Fascinating,” he mutters to himself. “The only other people I’ve seen are Hilda and Lorenz, but that was only a few times. I didn’t think much of it.”

Felix grumbles something. Everyone ignores him.

“I don’t think I’ve — wait!” Annette shoots up in her chair, “Linhardt! I’ve seen Linhardt in my dreams!”

“Lin… hardt…” Claude mutters to himself as he writes the name down, “Great. Well, we can’t really ask Byleth anything because I don’t want to, and it would be pretty stupid to pile everyone in a room at once.”

Everyone nods in agreement.

“Why don’t we… hm, we obviously want to ask Sylvain,” he points his pencil at Felix, “And Linhardt,” he points his pencil at Annette, “And… let’s go with Hilda. She’s more fun. Anyone else?”

Lysithea shakes her head. Mercie pushes herself off the desk to stand.

“I’ll ask Dedue,” she says, “I would rather ask him myself. I’ve been curious for some time.”

“You do you, Mercedes.” Claude scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s, hm, let’s invite them all to a movie night. Linhardt might be hard…”

“Linhardt’s more likely to come if we just tell him the truth,” Annette says.

“Right you are.” 

“Okay, movie night,” Lysithea says, “Movie night in a few days.”

“Not now?” Annette whines.

“No, not now!” Lysithea sighs, “I need to catch up on my homework.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s important right now,” Annette mutters.

“I don’t care what you think.”

Annette sticks her tongue out.

“Movie night, three days from now,” Claude announces. “Felix, can you handle that?”

Felix steels himself before replying. “I can handle anything.”

“Like the badass you are. Lysithea? Do you have time?”

Lysithea scoffs. “I know how to schedule myself, Claude.”

“A mature skill to have. Annette? You’ll be there?”

She pumps her fist. “I’m your girl!”

* * *

Annette has a perfectly pleasant time.

“A prophecy?” Linhardt asks skeptically

Annette nods emphatically. “It sounds fake, right?”

“...Yes. It does.”

“Okay, but get this.”

He waits.

_“It’s not!”_

“Fascinating,” he says to Lysithea days later, “This absolutely shouldn’t be real. I wonder what’s different about it…”

“I haven’t been able to figure that out,” she says, “It doesn’t fit in with any theory I’ve heard of. This should only be possible if the rules of reality are bent.”

Linhardt nods. “I wonder what else has been bent.”

Annette sighs and pulls her knees into her chest. She hasn’t known a moment of peace since telling Linhardt and finally, _finally_ he can pester someone else and she can take five minutes to herself curled up on Felix’s bed. It’s incredible, really, how quickly his room fell back into chaos. She glances at Claude’s bed, once again covered in books, and wonders just how the hell he lives like this.

“Hilda should be here soon,” Claude says as he throws himself on Felix’s bed next to Annette. “Felix should’ve gotten here already —”

_“Hellooooo!”_

Hilda kicks open the door and blinks around at everyone.

_“Claude,”_ she gasps, “You said this was supposed to be _fun.”_

“Excuse you!” Lysithea snaps. Hilda sticks out her tongue. “Oh, real mature.”

“Hilda! Welcome!” Claude stands and takes Hilda’s hand to lead her further into the room and away from the open door, “I’m thrilled you’re here. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Hilda pouts and throws herself on Claude’s bed. Around her books fly in the air and land askew on the mattress and the floor. She shoves a bottle of wine into Claude’s free hand. “So much for relaxing,” she mutters.

“I don’t recall promising you a relaxing evening,” Claude says with a wink. Hilda glares. “I need you here, though. Say, Hilda, have you had any weird dreams?”

She looks at him, bewildered, and opens her mouth to respond —

“This was a _fucking_ mistake.”

Felix slams the door shut behind him. Beside him, Sylvain seems to be having a great time.

“Oh, damn! The party’s already here!” Sylvain laughs. Felix takes Claude’s vacated spot next to Annette and groans.

“Why did I agree to this?” he mutters. Annette pats his knee.

“How’d you get him to come?” she mutters back.

He looks at her and his eyes contain the deepest secrets of the universe. Chasms of darkness. Harbingers of disaster and torturous ruins.

“He thought it was a date,” he whispers.

Annette gasps. 

_“No.”_

He closes his eyes to the horrors of the world and nods.

“Oh, Felix…”

“Don’t say anything.” Annette looks up. Sylvain is watching them curiously. She looks back to Felix. “Just… don’t.”

She hums and turns her attention back to the discussion in front of them. From the edge of her vision she can see Sylvain divert his attention a few seconds later.

“Neither of them seem to know much of, well, anything,” Linhardt scratches his chin as he talks about the Byleths and Lysithea nods along, “Let alone anything about being reincarnated.”

Lysithea nods. “They should know, right? They _made_ the prophecy.”

“Not exactly.” Linhardt points at some words Annette can’t make out from her seat and continues, “Saint Byleth made the prophecy. Not the Saints Byleth, not Saint Byleths, but Saint Byleth. One.”

“Maybe there was a second one who died?” Annette suggests.

“No,” Linhardt says, “That would have been mentioned in her birth records.”

“Wait, birth records?!” Annette groans. “Since when have we had birth records?!”

“They were in the pile I gave you,” Claude says.

“...Oh.”

“You didn’t go over everything? Annette!” Lysithea drags her hands down her face. “We need all the information we can get!”

“This is stupiiiid,” Hilda says in a singsong voice.

“Why would I obsess over birth records?!”

“So, this is riveting,” Sylvain sits down on Felix’s other side, “But, uh, what the fuck? What happened to movie night?”

“Kill me,” Felix mutters just loud enough for Annette to hear him.

Linhardt looks quizzically between Annette and Felix. “Oh, does he not know?”

Felix shakes his head.

“Oh. Well, we’re here to discuss a prophecy.” He considers his next words carefully. “You _do_ know what a prophecy is, don’t you?”

Sylvain laughs. “Sure!”

“Okay, well, I’m leaving!” Hilda goes to stand but Claude’s hand pushes on her shoulder and she doesn’t go anywhere.

“Humor me for a minute,” Claude says. Annette can’t see his dazzling smile but she _can_ see Hilda’s resolve completely wither before him, which is the next best thing. “This is for Lysithea’s thesis. You want Lysithea to get her degree, don’t you?”

Hilda crosses her arms. “Fine.”

“That’s my girl. 

“Let’s just cut to the meat of this,” Lysithea interrupts their weirdly sappy moment, “Claude asked if you have weird dreams. Do you?”

“Aren’t everyone’s dreams weird?” Hilda drolls.

_“Different_ weird — ugh! Someone else explain this!”

“Hilda! Darling!” Claude begins his stupid thing where he acts stupid, “You’ve never had a dream where you were, say, some sort of teacher? Or, perhaps, a dream where you were visiting _moi_ at my lavish estate?”

She glares up at him. “Duh.”

“Fascinating! Was I, perhaps, wearing all gold? A crown?”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re being weird.”

“Answer the question!”

“Ugh, yes. So? Everyone has weird dreams.”

Claude’s smirk grows. “Hilda! Hilda, Hilda, Hilda! You know they’re different. You know what I’m talking about.”

“How do _you_ know what you’re talking about?”

“I know what you’re talking about,” Linhardt says. He has the soft smile he gets when the pieces are falling together. “You think they’re past life dreams from these —” he gestures to the papers laid out across Claude’s bed and desk, “— reports and fables.”

Claude’s smirk turns victorious. “Linhardt gets me. Thanks, bud.”

“So? Lots of people believe in past lives.” Hilda flips her ponytail. “Why do you care? Sylvain, do you care?”

Sylvain shrugs. “It’s kinda cool.”

She scoffs. “So you believe your weird dreams are… whatever the hell they’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t have weird dreams.”

Felix grumbles something and holds his arms around himself even tighter. Annette pats his leg.

“I don’t have them either,” Lysithea says, “But both our names are in these reports, too.”

“Claude, the way you were speaking, your dreams involve Hilda?” Linhardt asks.

Claude shrugs. “Sometimes. Not very often. Lorenz has been in one or two of them.”

Linhardt looks at Annette and seems to read her response before he even asks, “Am I in your dreams, Annette?”

Annette rubs her arm. “Sometimes, yeah.”

He nods. “You’re in mine occasionally, as well. As is Professor Byleth and Headmaster Rhea.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes. Hm…” He narrows his eyes and looks between Felix and Sylvain.

Annette jumps to cut off _that_ train of thought. “They’ve gotten uh, more vivid since we found out about this,” she explains. From the edge of her vision she sees Sylvain look toward Felix.

Felix looks away.

“Felix.”

_“What.”_

Sylvain purses his lips and considers his words. “Is that why you’re mad at me?”

Under normal circumstances nobody would have any idea Felix was affected by the question. Unfortunately for Felix, there are four people in this small room that know him incredibly well; Annette watches his knuckles glow white as he grips his arms, and a muscle in his brow twitches in protest.

“Ugh, _Sylvain,”_ Hilda whines, “You can’t be taking this seriously.”

Felix relaxes when Sylvain tears his eyes away to look at Hilda. Annette silently asks if he’s okay. He doesn’t notice.

“Why not?” Sylvain asks.

Hilda puts her face in her hands. “Who caaaaaaares!”

“This is serious, Hilda!” Lysithea snaps, “We might be looking a war in the face! Do you want to die? Do you want everyone to _die?!”_

“Nobody’s going to die!” Hilda stands and this time she brushes Claude’s hand off her shoulder. “I’m leaving. And I’m taking my wine,” she adds.

Hilda storms out the door and slams it shut behind her. There’s a few moments of silence as the sound of her stomps ring in Annette’s ears before Linhardt clears his throat.

“That’s a shame,” he says, “I suppose we can try again later. Now, you two —”

“I think we should —”

_“Felix,”_ Sylvain interrupts Annette’s interruption, “C’mon, dude. You gotta tell me. We were cool for so long.”

Everyone’s eyes land on Felix in an ill-advised show of curiosity. He bristles like a cat and hisses out, _“Yes,_ you are in my dreams. Drop it.”

Something soft flashes through Sylvain’s eyes. “What did —”

_“I said drop it.”_

Sylvain’s mouth snaps shut and his brows furrow together. Annette can hardly look away; this is the most she’s ever seen Sylvain think. It suits him. It’s strange.

“We can go back to that later,” Claude says. Linhardt opens his mouth to protest and Claude steamrolls right over him. “I’m gonna be honest, I’m firmly in the camp of what-the-fuck-how-is-this-real-oh-fuck-it’s-definitely-real here. Weird place to be. Are we all in the same camp?”

Annette nods first. Felix nods last.

“Great. Love it. Why the fuck is this prophecy, specifically, real?”

Lysithea groans. Linhardt taps his chin.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “It’s fascinating. Truly. Every theory ever crafted says it can’t.”

“Yes, we’ve gone over that,” Lysithea snaps.

“I’m sure you have,” Linhardt continues, “It’s just… it’s _fascinating.”_

“Fascinating, got it.” Claude nods. “Any other theories?”

There’s a moment. A pause. It’s utterly shattered.

Sylvain nods wisely. “Ah,” he says, “Magic bullshit.”

“You say that like you understand,” Lysithea says, deadpan. The problem is he probably does.

“Oh, I do,” he says simply. He does not elaborate.

“Great, Sylvain gets it,” Lysithea scoffs, “Does anybody else? Can anybody translate Sylvain into Words?”

“You don’t get it?”

She glares at Sylvain. “No. I don’t.”

Sylvain laughs and scratches the back of his head. He tells the ground, “I probably don’t, uh, totally understand. Nevermind.”

“Stop that,” Felix snaps. “Stop acting like you’re stupid. Everybody in this room knows you’re not.”

Annette nods and gestures to Lysithea, Linhardt, and Claude. “Three of the smartest people on campus are in this room. They know you’re smart.”

“Yeah, you’re just annoying,” Lysithea adds.

Sylvain nods in agreement.

“Well we’re not gonna figure out complex, impossible magical theory today,” Claude interjects, “So let’s just, I don’t know, go over what we know? Sylvain, you’re involved, sorry.”

Sylvain nods again.

Claude, Linhardt, and Lysithea page through loose reports and open books with dogeared pages _(“You have got to be kidding me,” Lysithea hisses.)_ and post-its littered throughout. Felix begrudgingly takes a small stack of pages. Annette takes a much larger stack.

“Sylvain, I want you to go over this.” Claude hands him the tome Lysithea originally snuck out of the archives. “This is the first — well, the second thing, but the first _real_ source of information Lysithea found.”

_“I_ found the first one,” Annette points out.

“Yes, you found a shady blog with a forum attached.” Lysithea rolls her eyes. “Very reliable.”

“It was true, wasn’t it?!”

“Looks like it,” Claude says. “Okay, Sylvain, I want you to start right here —” he points to a nearly incomprehensible diagram, “— and just keep going. Ask whatever questions you have.”

“Are you sure you want _me —”_

“We told you to knock that off,” Lysithea snaps.

“Everyone else here has already gone over it,” Claude says. Linhardt shakes his head. “Well, everyone except Linhardt, but Annette already explained everything for him. I want your insight.”

Sylvain glances over to Felix, whose eyes are fixed on a single point on the dense text in front of him. “Can I ask something now, actually?”

“Shoot.”

“Why does everybody else get dreams? I get the rest of it, but…”

“I don’t,” Lysithea says, “Maybe everybody just doesn’t get them. We haven’t asked everyone involved, either.”

“Hm. Alright.”

Sylvain busies himself with the prophecy text, Lysithea pages through technical books on magical theory with Linhardt, and Claude, Felix, and Annette page through reports, letters, and notes. After a few minutes the silence gets to all of them and Claude turns on the radio.

“This list of omens,” Sylvain begins slowly after some time, “It… hm.”

Annette sighs internally and looks up. Lysithea looks like she’s about to punch him. Felix’s eyes have frozen again. It’s up to her. “It what?”

_“Can_ men turn into beasts?”

“I think that’s the point,” Annette says, “They can’t, so if they do it’s really, really bad.”

“There’s a classified report,” Claude says, “Stating someone received, uh, _divine punishment from the Goddess_ for stealing some kind of relic by way of turning into a demonic beast.”

“Oh. Well, we would’ve heard about that,” Sylvain says.

“Fuck, I’d hope so,” Claude mutters. Annette doesn’t want to think too hard about that.

“What do you think about the one before?” she asks, “Rebellions in the kingdom?”

“There’s always rebellions,” Felix grunts.

“Protests, demonstrations, yeah,” Sylvain agrees, “Depends how loose your interpretation of rebellion is, I guess.”

“And the one after?”

Claude, Lysithea, and Linhardt are all listening intently, now.

“A mysterious contained plague,” Sylvain clarifies, “Illness can be passed around anywhere. That doesn’t mean much.”

“Maybe not,” Linhardt says, “But there’s a report, I think Annette has it.”

Annette pages through and finds the incident in _Remire Village._ “Have you guys ever heard of this place?”

Linhardt shakes his head.

“Well, here you go, Sylvain.” She passes it down.

“Hm,” he says after looking it over for a moment, “That’s pretty fucked up.”

“Why are we doing this?” Felix grumbles, “We already know it’s real. We’ve decided that. Why aren’t we _doing_ something about it?”

“You saw how Hilda reacted,” Claude says, “If we want the best chance we have…”

“We need help,” Annette finishes. “It’s real, Sylvain. It’s moving forward. If we want it to stop, we need all the help we can get.”

“And there’s a reason you haven’t told a teacher about,” he squints at the page, “An attempted assassination on the prince?”

“Well,” Annette begins. She looks to Claude, unsure.

“Here’s the thing, Sylvain,” Claude says, “It’s strange, isn’t it? That twins named Byleth showed up and were immediately given a teaching position for no reason at all?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty weird.”

“Seteth’s pretty anal.”

Sylvain nods. “He _is_ pretty anal.”

Felix and Annette groan in tandem.

“Why were they given teaching positions if Seteth doesn’t know who they are?”

Sylvain shrugs. “They seem trustworthy to me.”

“What Claude’s trying to say,” Lysithea cuts in, “Is, well, it really looks like Headmaster Rhea and Seteth know.”

“So?”

_“So,”_ Annette says, “If you — ugh, okay, on the first thing I found —”

_“A shady blog.”_

“— it, um, kind of implicated Headmaster Rhea in all this.”

“Oh.” He looks back at the tome. “You think she wants the prophecy to come true.”

Annette nods.

“Hm. Weird.”

“That’s the point,” Lysithea groans, “If she knows we know — if she knows we’ve been digging around the library to find out —”

“She might expel you,” Linhardt says.

“Or, you know, _kill_ us,” Claude says. “I don’t like that prospect much.”

“Hm. Well, whatever you say.”

“You know what I think is strange?” Lysithea blurts out as soon as he stops talking. Annette looks over to her. “Claude and Hilda aren’t in a ton of these reports, but El and Hubert are in even less.”

“Wait, just who all is involved in this?” Linhardt asks. “Has anyone told Edelgard? She’s quite sharp.”

“I haven’t been able to get ahold of her,” Lysithea says, “I’ve tried, trust me.”

“I suppose she’s been gone a lot,” Linhardt says. Lysithea nods. A beat passes, and —

“What’s the shady blog?” Sylvain asks.

“Finish reading that before asking questions,” Lysithea snaps.

“I did,” Sylvain says. Annette looks over. He actually did. She hates him. “Does it have more stuff?”

Lysithea blinks. “What do you think of the book you _just_ read?”

“It seems legit.”

Felix slams his head on the wall behind him. Annette copies him in solidarity.

“Look,” Lysithea sighs, “My library ban ends tomorrow. Annette and I can show you then, as well as anybody else who wants to see. Sound good?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Sure, sounds great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fucking "Ah," he says, "Magic bullshit." bit was the first thing I actually wrote for this fic. It’s timestamped at November 28, 2019. Thrilled to put that stupid bit into the world.
> 
> Thank you sm to everyone who’s commented/kudosed/subscribed so far!! I know seeing single digits/? fics can be off-putting, and ultimately this is an incredibly self indulgent AU I’m writing because I want it to exist, but knowing other people are having fun makes me really happy!!
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	5. Dimitri's Computer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix gets locked out. Annette wants to play games on Ashe's computer. Claude gives a presentation.

They get kicked out of the library.

They are also officially banned from Annette’s room. Sylvain’s attempts to convince Ingrid were an impressive failure. 

_ “He offered to compliment her every thirty seconds,” _ Annette had explained over lunch earlier,  _ “She offered to stab him in the forehead.” _

_ “That’s why we have to go to your room,” _ Lysithea had continued,  _ “There’s no other option.” _

“Why can’t we do this in Lysithea’s room?” Felix asks later in the doorway to his own space, conveniently blocking the warzone that returned immediately after Mercie left. “Why does this all have to be in  _ my _ room?”

“It’s my room, too!” Claude calls from behind him. Felix scowls.

“Are you kidding? Do you wanna give Bernadetta a heart attack?” Lysithea snaps.

“She’ll be fine.”

“No she won’t!”

“Fine, Mercedes’ room.”

Lysithea and Annette shiver in tandem. “Mercie’s been doing, um,  _ communing exercises  _ ever since she spoke with Dedue,” Annette says, “Her room’s way too spooky.”

Felix slowly closes his eyes and counts to ten. He’s sick of his space being invaded. He’s sick of listening to Lysithea talk to herself until two in the morning. He’s sick of his shit being moved around until he can’t find anything.

“Sylvain’s room,” he grits out.

“No way,” Lysithea says, “I don’t want to see the posters on his walls.”

“Plus Mercie’s in and out of there a lot,” Annette says, “I don’t know what her and Dedue talked about, but she’s taking it very seriously.”

“You didn’t ask?!”

“You try asking her anything!”

“You still can’t come in my room.”

“Felix  _ please.” _

He tries to shut the door. Annette shoves her pink gel sandal in the way. He scowls.

“Some of us need to sleep,” he grumbles.

“Oohh,” Claude calls, “You can’t get enough time with your  _ dream boyfr  _ —”

Felix pushes his way out of the room between Annette and Lysithea and slams the door shut behind him. Warm mornings and gentle hands ghost through his memory. He wants to die.

The door locks behind him.

“Shit.”

“Don’t come back until you work out your differences!” Claude laughs through the door. 

Felix’s key hangs from a hook near the door. On the other side. The side he is locked out of.

_ “Claude!” _ Lysithea whines. Claude’s laughter dances from under the door and, soon enough, is drowned out by the campus radio station. 

“He locked me out,” Felix mutters, “That fucker locked me out.”

“What are we gonna do now?” Annette groans.

“What am  _ I _ gonna do now?!”

“Everything isn’t about you!” Lysithea snaps. 

“You’re snappy today,” he says. She huffs but doesn’t snap again.

_ “Guys,” _ Annette says, “What do we do? We can’t talk about this stuff out here, what if someone hears?!”

“Good. You can bother them instead of me.”

“Fine, Felix  _ is-so-evil-he-wants-to-let-a-war-start _ Fraldarius! We can just talk out here!”

He shrugs. It’s whatever.

“I can’t believe you don’t even care,” Lysithea mumbles.

“I care,” he snaps.

“Guys! I have an idea!” Felix and Lysithea both look at Annette. “Why don’t we go to Ashe’s room!”

“You just want to play games on his computer,” Felix says.

“That’s not true!”

Felix narrows his eyes. Annette looks like someone who just wants to play games on Ashe’s computer.

“That’s a great idea, Annette,” Lysithea declares. She has the same look about her.

“No,” Felix says.

“Last one there has to lick Seteth’s boots!” Annette shouts and she sprints off. Lysithea suppresses a snort and chases after her. Felix’s competitive instincts kick in and, cursing his weakness, he chases after them.

* * *

“You just want to play games,” Ashe points out.

“That’s not true!” Annette hops in place as she speaks, “You’re my friend! I wanna spend time with you!”

“Ashe!” Lysithea pushes Annette through Ashe’s doorway and stands in her place, “Do you ever get weird dreams?!”

“Wh —“

“Stop asking like that,” Felix snaps. Ashe looks to him, utterly confused and lost.

“Do you know what’s going on, Felix?” he asks.

“....It’s stupid.” Felix kicks himself for the sliver of knowledge he just let slip through. Ashe’s eyebrows raise juuuust a bit and he gets ready to kick himself again. “There’s, uh, something going on. They want to ask you about it.”

Annette positively beams at him.

“Why didn’t you just say so, Annette?” Ashe smiles cautiously, weakly, “Surely if you’re here for a reason with no ulterior motives…”

“Who said anything about ulterior motives?!” Annette’s voice pitches high. “We just wanna know if you ever get weird dreams!”

Ashe looks at Felix. Felix sighs, long and suffering.

“They do actually wanna know if you ever get weird dreams,” he forces out.

“Oh, okay.” Felix isn’t sure what to make of Ashe’s implicit trust in him. “Doesn’t everyone get weird dreams? Why are you asking me this?”

“We need to come up with a better way of asking,” Lysithea says. Annette nods in agreement.

“Well, uh,” Ashe looks around at the three of them; Annette, standing in his dorm already, Lysithea halfway through the door, and Felix the only one bothering to respect his space. “Come in, I guess?”

Lysithea marches through the door and sits on his bed. Felix drags his feet through and shuts the door to lean against it. Ashe gives him a questioning look. He shakes his head.

“So, Ashe,” Annette rocks on her heels in front of Ashe as she speaks, “Remember that forum I told you about? The spooky one?”

“The one that got you banned from the library,” he says, deadpan.

“Yes, that one. Well, it’s real.”

“Of course the blog is real,” he sighs, “You read it.”

“No! The prophecy is real!”

“...You’ve lost it.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Felix groans. Ashe’s eyes turn questioning. “Just… fuck, Ashe, just hear her out. This is such bullshit.”

“Hm.” Ashe worries his teeth for a moment and then gestures to his bed, taking a seat in his own desk chair, conveniently blocking anyone from approaching his computer. “Well, I’m listening.”

Felix slides down the door to sit on the floor and watches, empty and somehow furious, while Annette describes her dreams, then Mercedes’, then Felix’s. She kindly leaves out the part about Sylvain. By the end of it all Ashe hasn’t moved, hasn’t changed his face; he’s sitting politely, nodding along, and listening carefully.

“And, well, that’s that,” Annette finishes.

“So you think,” Ashe clarifies, “That this is real, and not something planted in the library to trick you?”

Annette blinks. “Why would anyone want to trick me?”

Ashe rubs his temples. “People trick people for all sorts of reasons. Felix?”

“Ask Lysithea,” Felix says.

“I tested the preservation spell,” Lysithea says, “It was the first thing I did. I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were!” Ashe chuckles to himself, “It’s just, well, it sounds like a scam. Did this website ask you for money?”

“What? No!”

“Annette,” Ashe says patiently, “It’s okay if it asked you for money. It’s okay to be embarrassed if you sent money.”

_ “What money would I even send?!” _

“Sylvain’s in mine,” Felix forces out. He can’t keep watching this. “He’s been in mine since before I met him.”

Ashe’s eyes search Felix for answers to a question he won’t verbalize. Felix stares back, daring him to ask. He doesn’t.

“Mercedes has them too,” he continues, “Same with Claude.”

Ashe’s nose wrinkles. “How do you know when they’re different from normal dreams?”

Annette and Felix exchange glances. Felix raises his eyebrows. Annette groans.

“They just feel different,” she says, “They aren’t as, I don’t know, dreamy?”

“I don’t think I have dreams like that,” Ashe says, “And any dreams that have you guys in them are, uh, not very nice.”

“Not very nice,” Lysithea says.

Ashe nods. “Not very nice at all.”

“Can you be more specific?”

Ashe looks to his hands, to Annette, to Felix, and to his hands again. “I don’t like talking about this,” he begins, “I have nightmares a lot. People I care about die. Lonato dies.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t think they mean anything,” he says finally, “They’re just dreams. Just nightmares. Everyone gets them.”

“I don’t get the dreams either,” Lysithea says.

“Why do you believe —”

“You know what, Ashe? Fine.” She slaps her palms on her knees. “You don’t have to believe me. Whatever. I don’t care. But if I ask you to help with my thesis, would you help me?”

Ashe swallows. “S-sure, Lysithea.”

“Even if it had something to do with the prophecy?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I want you,” she points at Ashe’s computer, “To hack into that website and find out who published it.”

Ashe’s eyes widen and his entire face flushes pink. His mouth moves around words that don’t come out.

“If it’s a scam artist then we’ve just been following a series of coincidences, right?” She rolls her eyes. “Though, I’m just saying, if Claude thinks it’s legit then maybe you should take it seriously.”

“I’m not saying anything about your intelligence!” Ashe stammers out, “You’re perfectly capable and smart!”

“Prove me wrong, Ashe! Hack into that blog!”

“No!” He stands. Felix’s entire body tenses and he narrows his eyes at Lysithea. “I can’t. I won’t. I won’t do it.”

“Oh ho ho, so you won’t? It’s not that you can’t?”

“L-Lysithea!”

“Calm down,” Felix snaps, his eyes locked on her. She purses her lips at him before continuing.

“Ashe, this is really important,” she says, her voice wavering in her attempt to force it down, “This could affect my entire life.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay!” Ashe collapses back into his chair and rubs his eyes with his palms. “I won’t do it. Stop asking me.”

“Ashe,  _ please.” _

“No!”

_ “Ashe.” _

_ “Lysithea,” _ Felix snaps.

“Oh, so you’re taking his side.”

“There’s no sides!”

“I — I’m not comfortable having you in my room.” Ashe stands and stomps his foot. “Please leave.”

Lysithea looks at him as if he physically threw her out of his room. He doesn’t waver. 

“It’s a bust, let’s go.” Felix forces himself to stand and opens the door. When Lysithea and Annette don’t instantly follow he says,  _ “Now.” _

Felix deliberately doesn’t hear what Lysithea says about him. He shoots Ashe a look that’s meant to convey a  _ I’m sorry,  _ Ashe shrugs, and he shuts the door behind him.

“Felix —”

“No,” he cuts Lysithea off before she can say whatever the fuck she wants. “Absolutely not.”

“You don’t even know what I wanted to say.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes you do.”

“Will you two please either use your words or save the world!” Annette hisses. They shoot her a glare in tandem. She sticks her tongue out.

“Felix —”

“I said stop,” he snaps.

“It’s time.”

“Time for  _ what?” _

“It’s  _ time.” _

* * *

Turns out it’s time to fucking die.

“I am so pleased that you are here,” Dimitri says, all pomp and pretense. Felix takes a deep breath. He’s supposed to be giving Dimitri a fair chance. He amends his judgement to simply  _ pomp. _ “Can I get you anything to drink? Any snacks?”

Annette’s eyes light up.

“No,” Felix says.

“Yes!” Annette and Lysithea say in tandem.

“Lovely! Please, allow me.”

The four of them take their seats around a small wooden table that’s quickly laden with packages of premade cookies and sweets. Felix’s teeth hurt just looking at it. Dimitri brushes absolutely nothing off his pants and looks around expectantly.

“Is, um, is El still gone?” Lysithea asks. Her hands are full of cookies and as soon as the question is asked she stuffs one in her mouth.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Dimitri sighs, “She’s quite busy these days.”

“What’s she doing, anyway?” Annette asks.

“Her dad’s running for office,” Lysithea says, “It’s like a work study thing. Or an internship thing. I don’t know, it has something to do with her major.”

“Ah,” Annette says with no understanding whatsoever.

“Yes, it is running her quite ragged,” Dimitri nods, “Her father has been ill off and on. She has decided to take care of the more tedious aspects, I suppose.”

Felix rests his chin on his hand. Annette glances at him. He shrugs. 

“You… suppose,” Lysithea says. Dimitri nods and opens his mouth to respond but, before he can speak, he’s interrupted by a loud  _ beep! _ He pulls his, ugh,  _ pager _ off his waistband and furrows his brow as he reads.

“Claude is looking for you all,” he says, “Shall I tell him…?”

“Yes!” Lysithea says through a mouthful of cookie. Dimitri smiles politely and shoots off a response.

“I am glad you enjoy those, Lysithea,” Dimitri says, “I don’t care for the texture. Please have as many as you like.”

Lysithea looks like she’s been presented with a mountain of sweets. “Really?”

He nods. Lysithea and Annette both cheer. They’re well into their second plate of cookies when Claude slams through the closed door.

“Great! You’re all here!” Claude rushes to their table and snatches a cookie. “I’m finally done going through all that shit.”

Felix blinks. “All what shit.”

“You know.”

“I really don’t.”

“All the shit on that website!” he laughs and ignores Dimitri’s questioning look. “I found some more stuff too — it’s not just them, you know. This is, like, a worldwide conspiracy.”

“What are you..?”

“Ah! Your princeliness, please accept my humblest apologies.” Claude spins on his heel and bows comically low while Dimitri sputters and flushes bright red. “My disrespect for royalty shall not stand. You may take my head.”

“I — I don’t want your head!” Dimitri chokes out.

“Ah, well, tell me if you change your mind.” Claude straightens up and his smile turns Dimitri from red to positively crimson. “Say, mind if I borrow your computer?”

“Um —”

“Thanks, you’re a doll!” 

Claude, who apparently knows Dimitri’s apartment better than Dimitri himself, leaps over the sparse furniture that stands in the way of the large desk taking up a sizeable portion of the living room and throws his entire body into the rolling chair in front of it. Felix looks to Dimitri, to Claude, and back to Dimitri, and decides Dimitri is significantly distracted and shuffles over to the desk. Annette and Lysithea follow closely behind.

“We weren’t even gone that long,” Lysithea snaps. Claude shrugs and shoves a bright yellow floppy disk into the tower.

“I work fast,” he explains. “Also, Felix, here’s your key.”

Felix tears it out of his hand.

“So get this.” Claude navigates through his files, opens a document, and spins in Dimitri’s chair to survey the room. “It’s not just that one blog. People are talking about this conspiracy all over the internet.”

“Conspiracy?” Dimitri cocks his head.

“Hell yeah, dude! Good job keeping up.” 

Dimitri’s face brightens.

“Now, I did some digging on my favorite forums.” Claude copies and pastes a link into Dimitri’s browser. It loads a bright yellow navigation bar and a forum full of glowing, rainbow, and enormous text. “It can be hard to find —”

“Claude.”

Claude turns to look at Lysithea. “Yes?”

She takes a deep breath. “Why did you check  _ Placebopets, _ of all places?”

“Oh, you can find  _ anything _ on Placebopets.”

“What?! No you can’t!”

“Sure you can! You just need to know the code words.”

_ “WHAT CODE WORDS?!” _

He shrugs. “Yeah.”

_ “Claude.” _

Claude ignores her  _ Claudes _ and turns back to the monitor. “So, basically, I found a lot of what we already know.”

“What do we know?” Dimitri asks.

“Very little,” Claude answers. “It’s kind of a problem, actually. Say, Dimitri, you know stuff. What all do you know about the War of Unification?”

Everyone’s eyes lock on Dimitri. He shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable in the spotlight. “Well, uh, it led to the unification of Fódlan which, of course, fractured again later.” He looks around. “Why do you ask?”

Claude hums. “Do you know who started it?”

He laughs awkwardly. “Is this important?”

“Yes. Very.”

Dimitri is quickly convinced by the serious look on Claude’s face.

“I do know who started it,” he says carefully. Felix eyes the way his hands wring together as he speaks. “The former Empire invaded the Kingdom and influenced portions of the former Alliance. But this was over 800 years ago; it’s not a war that’s commonly studied.”

“Dimitri?” Annette asks. His attention snaps to her. “Do you ever have weird dreams?”

Felix can’t hold back a snort. 

“Wh — what?”

“What do you know about the Savior King?” Claude continues.

“I know I share his namesake,” Dimitri says, “And I believe he led the Kingdom army’s fight against the former Empire. Are you researching the history of Faerghus?”

“You could say that.”

“Oh, there’s much more interesting —”

“Are you saying the Empire would be the ones to start the war?” Lysithea interjects. Dimitri visibly deflates.

Claude shrugs. “Can’t count it out.”

“Why would the empire start a war?” Dimitri asks.

“Does it really have to be the same instigator?” Lysithea ignores Dimitri, “El’s pretty involved in the Empire’s politics. She wouldn’t let that happen.”

_ “Well,” _ Claude fixes Lysithea with his biggest, most pathetic doe eyes, “So, Lysithea, here’s the thing. Supposedly, the general leading the Empire army was referred to as the Crimson Empress. It’s referenced in that tome you found, too.”

“Are you saying El’s the Crimson Empress because she wears  _ red?” _

“I’m unsure what we’re talking about,” Dimitri interrupts, “But the Crimson Empress is described as a terrible monster. Edelgard is, ah, intimidating, but she’s no monster.”

Lysithea nods at Dimitri. “Finally, someone speaking some sense.”

“I still don’t understand —”

“Isn’t she gone all the time?” Claude continues, “What’s she even doing?”

“She’s helping her dad with his campaign!”

“Are — forgive me for jumping to conclusions — are you claiming Edelgard wishes to start a war?”

Claude considers his answer. “Noooooo..?”

Dimitri gasps. “She would  _ never.” _

“Well, your princeliness, who’s the Crimson Empress supposed to be?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I truly don’t understand. Are you referring to the Flame Emperor?”

Lysithea and Claude freeze, their lips still forming around the words they were about to say. Felix looks between them and back to Dimitri.

“What the hell is a Flame Emperor?” he snaps.

“Rodrigue hasn’t told you anything?”

“No, you know he hasn’t.” Felix rubs the bridge of his nose. “Glenn hasn’t replied to my emails in awhile, either. I don’t know what’s going on back home.”

“Oh.” Dimitri looks conflicted and Felix knows what’s going through his mind. He knows the guilt Dimitri carries over Rodrigue’s open fondness toward him and his gentle distance from Felix. He knows he’s regretting bringing the subject up at all.

“Spit it out.”

Dimitri clears his throat. “Yes, well, someone calling themselves the Flame Emperor has been, ah, stirring trouble in the Kingdom as of late. Inciting rebellions, that type of thing. If someone is to start a war, I would think it him.”

There’s silence and everyone stares at Dimitri who hardly seems to notice.

“What does that have to do with the War of Unification?”

“Oh,” Annette says, “We were all resurrected and the war is going to repeat itself and the world is going to end unless we find a way to stop it like, right now.”

“Ah.” Dimitri nods. “Okay.”

* * *

“Hello, everybody!” Annette announces, “Thank you all for coming. We have gathered you here today to share some very important news.”

Felix, Lysithea, Linhardt, and Claude all stare at Annette. 

“Are we getting married?” Linhardt asks.

“What? No!”

“Oh.” Ignatz puts his camera down. “What are we doing, then?”

“I’m sharing very important news!”

There’s a pause while everyone stares at Annette expectantly. She’s frozen in front of everybody. Felix sighs. It’s fallen to him.

“All of you, listen up,” he barks. Everyone’s eyes snap to him and he realizes very, very quickly he doesn’t know what to say. He looks to Annette for direction.

Annette looks to  _ him _ for direction.

He looks back over Lysithea’s very crowded room. “Have, uh, any of you had weird dreams?”

Claude snorts behind him. Felix ignores him.

“Weird dreams?” Leonie’s question sounds a hell of a lot more like a declaration of his dumbassery.

“Please, allow me.” Felix sighs in relief and sits back down. Claude gestures for Annette to take his place and stands tall and confident in front of everyone.

Gathered in the room is everyone whose names they’ve found in reports and fables that aren’t employed by the school in some way and aren’t out of town. Hilda’s pissed to be there. Sylvain’s nodding along. Dimitri is visibly nervous. Nearly everyone else is waiting, different shades of patiently, to find out what the hell is going on.

“Now, as everyone in this room knows, something the fuck is up with this school,” Claude says. Felix is surprised to see absolutely nobody refute this. “Does anyone know what’s going on? Because I sure don’t.”

Dimitri raises his hand.

“Yes, your princeliness?”

“Ah, well,” Dimitri smiles gently, “The Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach is an educational institution, leading the continent and the world in magical theorem and —”

“Okay that’s enough. Anyone else?”

“U-um,” Everybody looks up to Lysithea’s loft bed where Bernadetta is hiding, “Does this have to happen in my room?”

“Either it happens in your room or you come to another room,” Claude says cheerfully. Bernadetta retreats. “Anyone else?”

Nobody else says anything. Two seats down from Felix, on the other side of Linhardt, Mercedes hums.

“None of you have noticed?” she asks. When nobody responds she continues, “None of you have had dreams that take place here? Lighting oil lamps, hunting, that sort of thing?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Leonie asks.

“Everything,” Mercedes says.

“Mercedes is absolutely right,” Claude says. “So?  _ Have _ any of you had weird dreams?”

Around half the students in the room raise their hands, including Leonie.

“Great. Raph! What are your dreams about?”

Raphael’s smile lightens the mood immediately. “I have lots of dreams in front of the fishing pond.”

“Ooh, the fishing pond! What do you do there?”

He thinks a moment before responding, “I fish, I bring the fish to a kitchen, someone cooks the fish, and then I eat the fish.”

“Riveting!” It was not riveting. “Do you see any of us in your dreams?”

Raphael nods. “All the time.”

“It’s normal to see your friends in your stupid dreams!” Hilda snaps.

“No, this was different.” Raphael nods to himself. “Aren’t yours different?”

Hilda crosses her arms in a huff. “Whatever. Do you get these stupid dreams, Marianne?”

Marianne flushes with everyone’s eyes on her and quickly looks to her own hands. “Y-yes,” she says, “I do. Um, yes.”

“Lovely!” Claude grins. “Now, those of you that  _ don’t, _ do you have any questions?”

Dimitri’s hand raises. Claude nods to him.

“What does this have to do with, um, anything?”

“I’m so glad you asked.” Claude’s grin turns devilish. “It has everything to do with  _ everything. _ Please, let me demonstrate.”

Lysithea shouts for him to stop, but she’s too late. Claude has ripped open the curtains blocking Lysithea’s desk under her loft bed from view and, set up out of sight from anyone else, is a massive corkboard with notes, pins, photos, and strings crossing across the whole thing. Felix swallows. He looks mad. They  _ all _ look mad.

“You see, we’re all here.” Claude points at a brochure for the school. “But for the first war, we were here,” he points at a small yellow post-it.

“The first war,” Lorenz clarifies.

“Yep! The first war.”

“What —”

“And here,” Claude’s finger floats to another yellow post-it, “Is when the prophecy was made.”

“The prophecy.”

“Yep! The prophecy.”

“What —”

“In the year 1605 a prophecy was made by the very same woman that led the Kingdom army during the War of Unification.”

There’s a pause.

“Claude,” Dimitri starts, “That was over 400 years after the war was won.”

“Correct! How did she live over 400 years?”

“This is  _ so _ stupid,” Hilda mutters.

“Wrong! Anybody else?”

“Magic,” Sylvain says.

“Correct! What kind of magic?”

“The magical kind,” Sylvain suggests.

“No! Anybody else?”

Nobody answers.

“Great. I’d hazard a guess it’s the same magic that allowed her to make a proper prophecy.” He points at another note. “Next —”

“That’s impossible,” Lorenz interjects, “Why are you wasting our time?”

“Unfortunately for all of us, it’s not impossible! Do you want to know why?”

Lorenz narrows his eyes. Claude opens his mouth to answer his own question, but Mercedes speaks instead.

“I know it’s difficult to accept,” Mercedes says, “Past life visions are a difficult thing to contend with. That which we don’t understand is the most terrifying.” She pats Dedue’s hand. “For instance, it seems Dedue and I were wed. That’s a lot of pressure to carry.”

A long, ominous pause stretches as everybody’s eyes, one by one, turn to Dedue. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in, and a deep breath out.

“I will admit,” he says far too evenly, “It’s very odd that Mercedes and I dreamed of one another long before we ever met.”

Felix deliberately avoids looking anywhere near Sylvain.

Mercedes nods. “It’s quite odd, indeed. Past life visions are incredibly rare, and yet nearly half of you seem to have them!”

“It’s incredible,” Linhardt says. “Truly, it’s fascinating.”

“Who were  _ you _ married to?” Hilda leans into Marianne’s space as she asks. Marianne flushes a deep red and begins stammering while Hilda’s smirk grows.

“I — really, um —”

_ “Past life visions,” _ Lorenz says with a sneer, “Are quite unlikely enough. You would like to combine them with an impossible prophecy?”

“Yes,” Claude says. Mercedes simply smiles in agreement. 

“And what proof do you have?”

“I’m getting to that! Now, next, we have the first report made by the former Church, outlining what was apparently a routine mission where they sent students to kill a group of bandits.”

Ignatz shivers. “Kill?”

Claude nods.

_ “What _ does this have to do with any of us?” Lorenz cuts in.

Claude sighs heavily. “The prophecy claims Byleth’s so-called  _ holy warriors _ are to be resurrected. Pretty weird we all have the same names as those holy warriors and we also have dreams of events they seemed to live through!”

“Lorenz is a family name,” Lorenz says, “This is quite unlikely.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m using my brain, Claude.”

“Anyway!” Claude turns his back on Lorenz and everyone else in the room, “There’s a bandit group, a rebellion, uh, a few other things. If any of our groups are sent on missions like this —”

“You think we’ll be sent on missions to  _ kill?” _ Ignatz looks like he’s moments away from fainting. Claude shrugs.

“Hope not!”

“Oh no…”

“Claude —”

“All I’m asking,” Claude speaks over Lorenz, “Is for everyone to pay attention. If you hear about the University sending a group to, you know,  _ kill _ a bunch of people, let everyone know. We need all the warning we can get if we’re gonna stop a war.”

_ “A war?!” _

Claude continues to ignore Lorenz. “Can we do that?”

Ashe raises his hand.

“Yes, Ashe?”

“What do we do if we believe you?” he asks.

“Oh ho ho, you think I’m making a point, hm?”

Ashe shifts in his seat. “Actually, um, I looked up the website Annette was talking about.”

“Well, that’s fine, too.” Claude nods. “Talk to uh, any of us up here anytime you want!”

Ashe raises his eyebrows at Felix and Annette. Felix closes his eyes and looks away. He can’t answer those questions right now.

“I’ll explain everything,” Annette says. She leaps up and takes Ashe’s hand and they run from the room. Behind them, in the room where Felix is unfortunately still seated, everyone begins speaking to one another. He shudders and tries to tune it out.

They all leave one by one; Lorenz and Hilda speed from the room first. Dorothea and Petra take Linhardt’s hand and are asking him questions before they’ve even passed the door. Lysithea waves her hands to shoo everyone else from her room.

Claude grabs Lysithea’s arm as she passes. “Did you get ahold of Edelgard?” he asks seriously.

She squares her shoulders. Felix leans in.

“I emailed her yesterday,” she says, “I’m going to meet with her when she’s back.”

He looks her up and down, appraising her for all she’s worth. Just as Felix is about to step in and lead her away he says, “Did you tell her?”

Lysithea narrows her eyes. “You don’t trust her.”

Claude shrugs and puts his carefree grin back on. “I don’t trust anybody, squirt.”

“Ugh!” She yanks her hand out of his grasp and he lets her go. “You’re impossible, Claude.”

“Fighting uphill is impossible,” he corrects. 

Lysithea rolls her eyes and storms off. Felix and Claude lock eyes and, though Claude exudes an air of nonchalance and confidence, there’s something uneasy under the surface, and for the first time since all this bullshit started, Felix has to admit to himself that he is really, truly terrified.

“Would you do me a favor, Felix?” Claude asks. He sighs.

“Whatever.”

“Do you mind emailing your brother again?”

Felix’s hackles raise. “Why?”

“I want to know what’s going on with the guy Dimitri mentioned.” Claude rubs the bridge of his nose and continues, “He’s bad news, and if he’s about to start an entire war…”

Felix crosses his arms. “Fine.”

“Thanks, dude.”

* * *

> Glenn.
> 
> Asshole. Reply to me once in awhile. I know you have access to a computer.
> 
> Dimitri said something about a flame emperor. Who the fuck is that
> 
> Felix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)
> 
> EDIT: i'll update when i can stomach writing about one-track minded bumbling assholes running things behind the scenes and making everything a lot worse when it's escapism and not, you know, the current political punchintheface


	6. Mutiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood, gore, and bodies, and mentions of vomiting. Take care!

El finally returns two days later.

Lysithea doesn’t know what to say anymore.

She doesn’t say anything to indicate she even saw Lysithea’s email which, if she’s honest with herself, seems pretty fucking weird considering how constantly connected she is. 

_ It could’ve just been lost, _ she tells herself,  _ Maybe she hasn’t had a chance to check. _

She wants things to go on as normal; she wants to grab lunch together, share research materials, make fun of pretentious indie movies. For that, Lysithea knows, they’d have to go all the way back to how things were before she started helping with her father’s campaign. El doesn’t really have time right now and Lysithea accepts that, because she’s an adult who can handle herself without her friend just fine.

So she doesn’t say anything. 

Which is fine.

Instead, she spends her time being bowled over by people with way too many questions, asking her for answers she doesn’t really have.

“Hey, Lysithea,” Ignatz asks her one day between work study gigs, “I wanted to ask if — if you think this dream I had could be, uh, you know.”

She suppresses an eye roll. “I don’t get the dreams, you should ask Claude or Annette,” she says sharply.

“I didn’t want to bother them,” he admits sheepishly.

She bites back  _ oh, so you’re okay with bothering me?!  _ and instead says, “Okay, spit it out.”

He grins, relieved, and falls into an explanation of what she’s pretty sure is his entire past life. He must’ve been having dreams for a long, long time. She crosses her arms and just barely refrains from tapping her foot.

“I think that’s it,” he finally says. He takes a deep breath and looks at her expectantly.

“I think you should share that with someone who gets the dreams.” He visibly deflates. “I just — I don’t know, Ignatz! I don’t know what they feel like.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he sighs. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“You — ugh, you weren’t bothering me! It’s fine!”

He smiles weakly and bids her goodbye. 

Lysithea  _ wishes _ she got the dreams.

For the fourth night in a row she wakes gasping for air after nearly choking on her own blood in another nightmare. The stress has been making them worse, more frequent; vivid depictions of fighting, dying, of horse hooves pounding around her in an overwhelming scene where everything’s red and burning and everything hurts. And then, when she wakes up, everything hurts just the same after sleeping on this  _ fucking _ mattress.

She hears a pencil scratching.

“Bernadetta,” she groans. The scratching stops. “Why are you awake?”

“Oh, um,” her voice is tiny, “I wanted to write down my dream.”

Lysithea sluggishly rolls and looks over the rail of her loft bed. “What was it?”

“W-well, there was a beast —”

Lysithea is suddenly brimming with life. “A beast? Like — like men turning into demonic beasts?”

Bernadetta flinches. “No, um, I don’t think so? He was nice…”

“Nice?!” Lysithea scoots to the ladder and climbs down to sit next to Bernadetta on her bed. “What do you mean nice?”

“I don’t know, he was just nice…”

“Oh.”

Bernadetta waits for Lysithea to say something else, but she has nothing, and she gets back to writing. Lysithea waits for her to finish up before asking another question.

“Do you think it’s, um, you know…?”

“I don’t know.” She sets her notebook on her desk and curls back up in her blankets. “I hope so. I hope I can meet him one day. Um, I think maybe you should go back to bed.”

“I can’t sleep.” Lysithea stands from Bernadetta’s bed and she curls further into her blankets. She looks like she’s close to passing out again. “Don’t worry about me. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight…”

Bernadetta’s back asleep before Lysithea draws the curtains around her under-the-bed office shut. Lysithea wakes up, bent over her desk, sometime after Bernadetta’s left for the day.

“Shit,” she mutters as she tries to push her newest nightmare out of her head. “Shit.”

* * *

“Lysitheaaaa!”

Lysithea slowly raises her head from her notebook. “What.”

“I’m like,  _ so  _ glad to see you,” Hilda says. She bounces her way to the seat across from Lysithea and throws herself down and she — ugh, she blows a bubble with her very pink gum. “I had a question.”

“What.”

“I was wondering,” she considers her words as if she didn’t plan out this entire conversation, “If maybe there were, I don’t know,  _ other _ signs that a dream could be something weird.”

“I thought this was all bullshit,” Lysithea deadpans back. Hilda smiles sweetly in response.

“Mhm! I just, you know, wanna be sure.”

Lysithea rubs the bridge of her nose. “How many times do I have to say I don’t  _ get _ the dreams? Ask Claude, aren’t you friends?”

“Yeah, but Claude has like, an  _ agenda _ or something.” Hilda sighs and blows another bubble before continuing. “You know how he is.”

“Yes, Hilda. I’m aware of Claude’s  _ agenda _ to stop a war.”

“Well  _ that’s _ not necessary.”

Lysithea lowers her pencil back to her notebook without breaking eye contact. Maybe she’ll get the hint. Maybe she’ll go away.

“But let’s say I have dreams about making hairclips.”

Lysithea groans.

“But they’re, like, not any hairclip I’d  _ ever _ make. They’re super tacky.”

“Hilda, I  _ don’t care.” _

“And uh, sometimes Claude’s there.”

“Hilda.”

“But usually he’s not.”

“Hilda,  _ please _ ask Claude instead.”

“But I wanna ask you,” Hilda whines.

Lysithea grits her teeth.

“Hey, ladies!”

For once in her life, Lysithea is grateful to hear Sylvain’s irritating voice.  _ “What?” _

“Have either of you seen Felix?”

Lysithea appraises his current state. Stupid hair. Stupid eyes. Stupid outfit. Stupid faked nonchalance. Value: stupid.

“No,” she says.

“I saw him with Claude,” Hilda says.

Sylvain’s expression flickers long enough for a smirk to cross Hilda’s face.

“Why don’t you help him find Felix?” Lysithea suggests, “And then you can talk to Claude.”

“You know what, Lysithea?” Hilda says, “I think I will.”

Hilda hops up and wraps her arms around one of Sylvain’s and leads him away. Lysithea sighs out the tension in her shoulders and manages to write absolutely nothing before Caspar takes Hilda’s place.

“Lysithea!” He says entirely too loudly, “What if my dreams —”

_ “Ask Claude!” _ she shouts, “Or Linhardt! Aren’t you friends?”

Caspar considers this for a moment. His face lights up. “That’s a great idea, thanks!”

And just as quickly as he appeared, he’s gone.

Okay. This time she can do it. She takes a deep breath in, visualizes all the stress and pressure on her shoulders from completing and defending her thesis and also saving the world, and she breathes it all out. The pressure is off. She can move forward.

And she does. For about six seconds.

“Hey, Lysithea?”

Lysithea slams her notebook shut. “What!”

Ashe flushes pink. She refuses to soften her glare. “I just, um, you said you don’t get —”

“No! I don’t get the dreams!”

Several strangers sitting around them turn and stare. She covers her face with her hands.

“No,” she says, much more evenly, “I don’t get the dreams.”

“Okay.” He gingerly takes the seat across from her and folds his hands together. She stares. He says nothing.

“Okay,” she confirms.

“Do you get nightmares?” he asks.

She blinks. “Yeah —”

“And you’re fighting? And you think you’re going to die, and people around you are dying? And there’s a fire? And so,  _ so  _ much blood.” Ashe shudders.

Lysithea’s thoughts hit a brick wall. She doesn’t understand. “Uh, yeah?”

“And — and when you wake up it hurts? You wake up after you’ve been hit, and —” Ashe’s eyes have gone wild. He’s gesticulating all over the place and, Lysithea notes for the first time, he’s incredibly pale with deep, dark bags under his eyes.

“Ashe,” she says slowly. He snaps to attention. “What are you saying?”

He looks to his left. He looks to his right. He looks over his shoulder. He looks at her.

“I’m scared,” he admits, “I’m scared because — what if they’re the dreams everyone talks about? Wh-what if those people really  _ did _ burn? And scream?”

Lysithea doesn’t like this.

“What if I really  _ did _ witness Lonato’s d —”

“Ashe.”

“What if it happens again? What if he dies again?!”

“Ashe!”

He freezes.

“If — if those are the same thing,” her thoughts have started moving again and they’re fast. Too fast. Moving far, far ahead and analyzing everything that’s kept her up at night for years and years. “I — we — we can stop it, we —”

“You get them too,” he whispers.

“I — no, I — ugh!” She pulls at her hair. “I don’t know! I don’t know!”

“Lysithea, what do we  _ do?!” _

“I don’t know!!!”

“We have to find Annette,” Lysithea decides, “She’ll know what to do. Or she won’t. I don’t know.”

Ashe nods. “Yeah. She, uh, she might.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

They scramble to gather Lysithea’s things. Ashe ends up carrying most of it because, try as she might, Lysithea can’t seem to hold anything steady. They run together, frantic, drawing stares from everyone they run past

Annette’s not in her room. She’s not in the library (she sends Ashe in to check, just in case). She’s not in Felix’s room, at the dining hall, or in any of the secluded seating areas peppered around campus. Lysithea doubles over to catch her breath and  _ fuck _ they’re never gonna find her.

That’s when Ashe grabs her shoulder a bit too forcefully.

“Lysithea!” he hisses while she regains her footing, “Look!”

Running toward them, waving in the air, is a familiar short ginger.

Annette’s hair is a damn mess and her eyes are wild. She heaves for breath and tries to force words out, failing over and over until Lysithea grabs her shoulder and forces her to take a moment.

“Lysithea, Ashe — it’s —” she forces out, “I just — Dimitri said — fuck.”

She coughs. Ashe pats her back.

“Okay, okay,” she says, finally breathing evenly, “Dimitri said — he said some of the knights just got back, they — they found and killed the guy that attacked him and Claude and Edelgard.”

Lysithea chokes on her own throat.

_ “What?!” _

“It’s bad, Lysithea!” Annette grabs her by the shoulders and shakes. “Do you think it counts? Does it count?!”

“I don’t know!” she cries. “I don’t know anything!”

“I don’t either!”

“No!” Ashe cries out. “I can’t — I won’t accept it!”

“Ashe!” Annette cries out, “This means we can stop it! We can do something!”

“What if he dies again?!”

“What?”

Ashe tries to keep speaking, Lysithea cuts him off before he has a chance to choke on his own throat. “He said someone’s name earlier.”

“L-Lonato,” he forces out. 

“What about him? Did he die?” Annette gasps, “Did you know something and not  _ tell _ me?”

“Annette I don’t think this is the time,” Lysithea groans.

“Oh.” Annette looks between Ashe’s tears and Lysithea’s panicked face. “R-right.”

“What do we do?” Ashe whispers. His eyes are big and helpless, his entire face flushed pink.

“We stop it,” Annette says.

Lysithea nods, forcing a calm face over her rapid pulse. “We stop the war.”

_ “How?!” _

“Um.” Lysithea looks to Annette for answers. It looks like she didn’t think that far ahead, either.

“I don’t know.”

That doesn’t help. His face spirals back into panic and tears and Lysithea doesn’t know how to help and neither does Annette and everything’s going to shit and they’re going to fail and they’re all going to die and —

_ “Lysithea! Get ahold of yourself!” _

The world swims back into view with Annette coming into focus first, shaking her by the shoulders. Her breath catches and she coughs.

“Everyone isn’t going to die! We’re going to fix this!” Annette shouts.

“Fix what?”

Annette and Lysithea freeze and slowly turn toward Ashe; resting an arm over his shoulder and pulling him into a comforting hug is Ingrid, looking simultaneously stern and concerned.

“Uh —”

“The prophecy!” Lysithea blurts out and immediately cringes at herself. Ingrid was at the meeting, she’s aware of what they found out, but she didn’t really respond. At all. She just quietly sat and quietly left and she hasn’t heard anything about it from Annette.

“Don’t you think this is getting a little ridiculous?” she chides, “Look, you made Ashe cry!”

“It’s — it’s —” Ashe stutters. Ingrid runs a hand through his hair.

“It’s not real,” she tells him firmly.

“It’s —”

“Professor Byleth called a meeting,” Ingrid interrupts, “All the Lions are supposed to go to his office.”

“Oh.” Annette locks eyes with Lysithea and quickly looks away. Ingrid is determinedly looking away from her. “Okay.”

Ingrid steers Ashe away from them and Annette follows slowly behind, dragging her feet, glancing back at Lysithea one last time while Lysithea stands frozen, her nightmarish memories flashing in front of her eyes and coursing through her blood. She swallows. She takes one step forward.

As calmly as she can, she trudges through the gore and muck at the edge of her consciousness and follows after.

Ingrid doesn’t seem to realize she’s behind them, which is great, but neither does Annette, which is less great. She can’t call for Annette’s attention without alerting Ingrid so she keeps quiet and steps gently as they cross the courtyard and as they enter through the open door of the office.

Lysithea toes her way across the back of the office and quietly crouches behind Felix who pretends not to notice her. Nobody else seems to see her, or at least nobody calls her out, and she’s able to listen from her position hidden from the world.

“Thank you, everybody,” Byleth’s ominously monotone voice immediately shushes all conversation, “We are meeting today to discuss a request we have from the Kingdom.”

Silence. Byleth clears his throat and continues.

“Our presence has been requested immediately. There was a minor rebellion. We are to assist.”

“Ah, what Professor Byleth means to say,” Dimitri cuts in, “Is my father has requested my presence in Gaspard territory, and I have requested assistance.”

“G-Gaspard?” Ashe asks.

“Yes.” Lysithea quietly curses herself for hiding where she can’t see anything. “Your family lives in Gaspard, yes?”

“Yes, they do,” he says shakily.

“Perhaps we can stop by while we’re in the area?”

Ashe heaves a sigh of relief. “I would like that. Uh, please.”

“Excellent, we shall plan on that. I believe Felix’s brother is planning to meet us after to ensure everything went smoothly.”

Ah, she can see  _ that. _ Felix’s entire body tenses up next to her and his hand forms into a tight fist. Dimitri must see the oncoming storm because he quickly changes direction.

“I believe I mentioned this to Annette and Felix, but the Kingdom believes these rebellions to be centered around someone calling themselves the Flame Emperor,” he says, “We have not been able to track his comings and goings; he seems to appear and disappear at random.”

“While we’re in the area,” Byleth continues, “Dimitri has asked for us to pay special attention to anyone rallying around the Flame Emperor and to look for any other suspicious individuals.”

Lysithea’s heart pangs. Felix’s fist tightens even further. She hopes Annette hears what she’s hearing as well.

“Of course,” Mercedes says calmly.

“Sounds easy enough,” Sylvain agrees.

There’s another awkward pause. Lysithea swallows and peeks around Felix’s legs.

Ashe leans against Mercedes and Annette stands on his other side gripping his arm, pale and frightened. Ingrid leans against a wall nearby looking as serious as ever, and Sylvain stands across the room. Dedue, Dimitri, and Byleth stand together at the front.

Byleth cocks his head toward Lysithea, a single Deer crouching in a pride of Lions. Her breathing stops.

“Would you like to assist on this mission?” he asks.

“Um —” Lysithea slowly rises to her feet and takes a deep breath, “Yes. Yes, I would.”

“Excellent,” he says, “I recently got permission to ask that. I am glad to try it. Please pack for a few days, we leave in one hour.”

Lysithea and Annette trade glances, shuffle together, and snap their attention back to Byleth, who has seemingly nothing of note to add.

“I  _ have _ to find Claude,” Lysithea whispers. Annette looks panicked; helpless. “He has to know. We have to tell him.”

“Hurry,” Annette hisses. She shoves Lysithea and whispers a quick apology that Lysithea doesn’t stick around to accept. Shit. Fuck.  _ Shit. Fuck! _

Ashe’s words echo in her mind.  _ What if he dies again? What if he dies again? What if he dies again? _

What the fuck do they do if he really  _ does _ die again?!

She doesn’t go to her own room; she goes to Felix’s and pounds on the door.

_ “Claude!” _ she shouts,  _ “Claude, let me in!” _

There’s no answer. She pounds harder.

_ “Claude!” _

Something pulls her back. She yelps.

_ “Lysithea,” _ Felix hisses, his hand a familiar weight on her shoulder, “He’s not here.”

She looks between his eyes narrowed with suspicion and skepticism. “I need to tell him,” she says in a tiny voice. It’s all she has.

“Leave him a note,” he says, “We’re leaving  _ now. _ You need to pack.”

“But —”

“I’ll leave him a note,” he says. Lysithea can recognize a compromise from Felix when she sees one.

“Fine,” she snaps, “Don’t leave anything out.”

“Uh huh.”

She looks him over one final time. Satisfied he won’t let her down she marches to her own room and throws whatever she can grab into an overnight bag. 

“Ready?” Annette asks shakily when they meet again in front of the bridge to the university.

“Ready,” Lysithea confirms.

The rest of Annette’s group joins them one by one. Felix’s shoulders are tensed, Ashe’s eyes are bright, and Dimitri won’t shut the  _ hell _ up.

“Yes, well, it was Cornelia’s suggestion that my father send me,” Dimitri explains, “He can’t be pulled away for too long and, well, I can step away from my studies for a few days.”

“Hm,” Byleth responds.

“And I, of course, agreed.”

“Hm,” Byleth responds.

“And, well, here we are.”

“Here we are, indeed.”

Here they are, indeed. In front of a crusty yellow school bus, complete with an extendable stop sign.

“I don’t see why they can’t rent a coach bus,” Lysithea mutters to Annette, “We’re travelling with the  _ prince.” _

“Don’t say that where he can hear you,” Annette mutters back. 

“Why not?” Lysithea smirks, “He might tell Professor Byleth?”

Annette shudders. “Ugh. Don’t even say that.”

“He just  _ loves _ telling him things.”

“Don’t remind me.”

* * *

The bus ride lasts  _ forever. _ It’s welcome entertainment when Lysithea watches Byleth walk up the length of the swaying bus, stumbling back and forth with every bump and turn. He’s completely undeterred.

“We are almost there,” he informs them with a completely blank face at the front of the bus. “When we have arrived I will exit first, and when I give the signal you may all follow. Do  _ not _ exit this vehicle until I have given the signal.”

The Lions all confirm they understand the directions immediately. It’s kinda like a cult.

“Good. Thank you.” 

Chatter resumes and they drive through another dark patch of dense woods. Lysithea and Annette stay silent, their eyes trained on the shining light at the end of the road, vibrating in excitement and terror at what lies on the other side.

They pass through.

They see nothing.

Fog blankets everything around them. The bus brakes, sending Byleth tumbling forward which would be hilarious if Lysithea wasn’t utterly terrified. He regains his footing, glances back at his students, and looks back toward the exit. He holds up a hand as a reminder they’re not to follow and steps down carefully. The doors open. Lysithea jumps to her feet at the sound of screaming and joins the scramble down the narrow aisle to the front of the bus. Byleth shoots them all a warning look and they’re stopped by Dimitri’s immediate freeze, nearly pushing him out the front door when they run directly into his back. Byleth takes his sword and steps forward slowly, squinting through the fog.

He’s barely within sight when he waves for them all to follow.

“Slowly,” he commands, “There are unseen enemies in the fog. Be prepared to defend yourselves.”

They follow behind. Sylvain cringes when he stumbles over a body and Lysithea screams.

_ “Shh!” _

“Sorry,” Lysithea barely whispers. She’s not capable of much else right now. Annette takes her hand in a crushing grip and they walk forward together, slowly, terrified.

Byleth raises his sword.

_ “Halt!”  _ he shouts.

The fog blows away all at once in a flash of light; across the field a woman in armor slices an enormous glowing sword through the air, and in front of her an unrecognizable body falls to the already bloody ground. Lysithea’s world stops. Annette vomits.

“Wh-what?” she stutters out, “What’s going on?!”

Byleth takes a wide stance in front of the group; Dimitri joins him, carrying his duty of protecting his subjects seriously for the first time since Lysithea has met him, but neither of them anticipates an assault from behind.

_ “Lonato!” _

Ashe darts through them directly into battle, leaping over bodies with his bow in hand, splashing mud and guts everywhere. Byleth and Dimitri don’t hesitate and follow after him, and Dedue and Ingrid run closely behind. Lysithea stands, frozen in place by the shock and the stench and the terrible screams and squelching echoing across the battlefield while everything tunnels around her until the only thing she can see is Ashe running, dodging, screaming —

Screaming.

Whatever it was he was running towards, he was too late.

_ “No!” _

So many people are falling around him; she can’t tell who he’s yelling over.

_ “No!” _

Lysithea’s legs pump full of crackling fire. She runs. Distantly she can hear yelling from behind, footsteps pounding and the  _ shhing! _ of a battle completely foreign to her. She just runs, runs to where Ashe has collapsed next to a bleeding body, where Byleth stands between him and the armored woman, both of them poised with their strange glowing swords drawn.

_ “A —” _ she coughs on the thick, bloody air and tries again,  _ “Ashe!” _

And she falls to her knees next to him. Gore and mud cover her jeans. Annette falls to his other side and, in tandem, they each lean over the unfamiliar (definitely dead) body and they just  _ try. _ Mercedes settles across from them and together they pour everything they have, every belief in justice, in the goodness in the world, all the faith they have that everything might be  _ okay _ through their hands and into his skin.

She knows it’s not enough. Everybody knows it’s not enough. Ashe knows it’s not enough.

_ “You weren’t supposed to be here!” _

Lysithea’s magic falters, her faith dries up, and she knows they’ve lost this battle. 

_ “Your presence wasn’t requested!” _

Byleth’s familiar voice booms over a sound she now recognizes as fighting. It’s the most emotion she’s ever heard from him.

_ “You will not come closer to my students!” _ he yells,  _ “Leave!” _

_ “I need to check his body —” _

_ “I said leave!” _

Lysithea slowly looks from her bloody hands to Byleth and the woman, one sword pressed against the other. She can’t see Byleth’s face, but the woman splashed with blood looks furious. Even as she concedes and lowers her sword her face is screwed up in a scowl.

“You check his body then,” she spits, “And be sure to report whatever you find to Rhea.”

Byleth doesn’t respond. Whatever the woman sees in his face must be good enough for her, though; she turns and walks away, back to a small battalion, and when she’s finally left the battlefield Byleth turns back to his students.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. Ashe doesn’t hear. “I’m so, so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES nearly a month between updates! i refuse to apologize cuz like, gestures to the outside world, but still yikes. i can't promise that won't happen again cuz like, gestures to the outside world again. but i'll do my best to get back to updates every 5-10 days!
> 
> what i CAN promise is we're approaching the end of part one!
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	7. The Mausoleum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon typical violence. Take care!
> 
> Thank you [Isa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isa1187/pseuds/Isa1187) for betaing this and looking over it after my long break!!! Isa wrote [a really incredible slow burn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644202)

The bus ride back is  _ horrendous. _

Annette and Mercie sit on opposite sides of Ashe and just hold him as close as they can. Lysithea and Felix are silent, shocked; death seemed obvious, inevitable. Annette staves off the crushing feeling of dread by fixing, helping, making herself useful until she passes out, but she can’t fix this. She can’t save a dead man. 

Byleth tries, but he doesn’t know what to say. He stands, opens his mouth, looks at the ground, and sits back down every few hours. Dimitri’s pale and exhausted. Their leaders can’t fix this, either.

“I’m sorry,” Annette whispers into Ashe’s hair as he shakes in her arms, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Their overnight trip ends when the bus pulls up to the university at dawn and everyone files off, moving mechanically, helping Ashe take step after step until every single last classmate has helped him into his room and into bed. 

“I’ll stay with him,” Mercie says. Nobody asked. Everyone’s relieved.

“Everybody take the day off,” Byleth says next, “I’ll take care of Headmaster Rhea; I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Get some rest,” Dimitri says last. Annette wants to say the same to him.

But she doesn’t. 

She drags herself back to her room with Ingrid and they both land face-first on their beds. Annette dreams way too much. She hates Ingrid for sleeping soundly through the night. She hates Ingrid for barely dreaming at all, really.

_ Why? _

* * *

“So let me get this straight,” Claude says over his bright yellow legal pad, “Ashe’s father is dead.”

“Yes,” Annette says, her voice small.

“And the people who killed him just let you go.”

Annette nods.

“That… doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t,” Lysithea says, “That’s the whole point.”

They’ve been back at the monastery for less than 24 hours. This is the first time any of them have been awake at the same time; Felix was immediately interrogated by Claude and wasn’t allowed in his own bed until morning, Lysithea stole any sleep she could catch, and Annette stubbornly stayed in bed fighting her racing heart until a fully rested Ingrid pushed her out the door. It doesn’t look like Claude slept at  _ all. _

“Okay,” he says as he scans his notes and flips through the mess of papers spread across his bed, “Your stories all line up.”

“Did you think they wouldn’t?” Annette asks. Claude shrugs in response.

“He’s just stupid,” Felix grunts from under his covers.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Claude says, “I mean, we all  _ know _ the knights are basically just killer cops, but it’s something else entirely to, uh, see it.”

Annette tries really, really hard not to remember the flash of a glowing sword followed by fading screams. It’s harder when the images mingle with the images in her nightmares.

“Who was that woman, anyway?” Lysithea asks.

“The one with the sword?” Annette asks.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Uh —”

“She’s one of the knights,” Felix says, “I’ve seen her in the training grounds.”

“Right, the nerd zone,” Annette says reflexively.

“I’m not sure right now is the time —”

“Anyway!” she cuts Lysithea off, “She’s a knight. That’s obvious.”

“A knight with a glowing sword,” Claude mutters. He’s sliding pages back and forth over his bed, pulling books toward him and pushing them away when they don’t yield answers. She can see his thoughts racing and watch him catch every lead that makes even a little bit of sense. It all flies over her head. “Felix, did you ever catch her name?”

“Uh,” he says, “Catherine, I think.”

“You think?” says Claude.

“We’re all shocked,” Lysithea says, voice dry.

“I thought it wasn’t the time,” Annette pokes back.

“I mean, I don’t know for sure,” Felix says like nothing has happened, “She seems to clear out as soon as anyone else walks in. We’ve never sparred.”

Claude writes something down on his legal pad and says, “Weird. Maybe she hates you.”

“It’s not just me.”

“Are you  _ sure?” _

“Guys!” Annette sighs, “Can we  _ please _ stay on task. My brain’s made of oatmeal, I can barely keep up as it is.”

Claude laughs at her pain and returns to his notes. “I know we’ve already assumed the worst,” he says, “But I think we uh,  _ know _ the worst now.”

“Great,” Lysithea says, voice hollow, “And it’s already started.”

Claude nods. “Yeah.”

Annette can’t keep up with her thoughts; they race ahead, leaving her behind to try and piece together the shards of coherency into something resembling a sentence. 

“We’re fucked,” Felix says before she can say anything.

“No we’re not,” Claude says, “The bad guys are fucked.”

_ “Who _ are the bad guys?!” Lysithea whines.

Annette tries  _ really hard _ to put everything together.

“Us, probably,” Felix says.

“Stop being edgy and use your brain,” Lysithea says.

“People are dying and in a past life we killed them,” Felix spits. His voice drips with venom. “How are we  _ not _ the bad guys?”

“Everything isn’t about good and evil!”

“Stoooop,” Annette whines.

“This seems pretty fucking cut and dry,” Felix says.

“There’s no reason for us to fight with each other,” Claude says.

“Felix just called me the bad guy!” Lysithea says.

“I know, squirt.”

“Oh, I  _ will _ kill you.”

“Like the bad guys,” Felix says.

“Like how I’ll take down the bad guys, yes,” Lysithea says.

“You all talk so much,” Annette says.

“You’re right, Annette,” Claude says, “We talk too much and we solve nothing. So? Who  _ are _ the bad guys?”

Nobody responds. They all look at each other awkwardly until Felix says, “Catherine.”

_ “Catherine?”  _ Lysithea stares.

“Think about it!” Felix says, “She fought Byleth  _ with a sword _ because, why? To kill Ashe’s dad  _ more?” _

“One person seems like kind of a stretch,” Claude says.

“Fine! Catherine and Headmaster Rhea!”

“What if it’s all of them?” Lysithea suggests, “What if it’s all the knights? And the faculty?”

Annette turns the possibility over in her mind. She considers Catherine, cutting down everyone who stood in her way; considers her father, who died long ago in service to the knights. 

“No,” she says, “It can’t be.”

“We can’t rule everything out,” Claude says.

“It’s  _ not _ the knights!” Annette cries, “Headmaster Rhea’s in charge of the knights, obviously she’s calling the shots.”

“Everything comes back to her,” Lysithea says.

“I hate this,” Felix says.

“Great,” Claude says, “So we’re back to our very first hypothesis. We should get back on that conspiracy site."

* * *

  
  


They’re in the computer lab, the four of them sitting side by side combing through a trash pile of nonsense and facts hidden in SAFE OR SCAM?, when they hear mister  _ be-quiet-in-the-library _ burst through the doors and storm up to the desk.

“Have you seen Professor Byleth?” Seteth asks Tomas. Actually, if Annette really thinks about it, it sounds a lot more like an accusation.

“What?” Annette hisses.

“Shh!” Claude shhs. His eyes are trained on the scene in front of them as well. Tomas says something she can’t hear and Seteth really, really doesn’t like it.

_ “THE OTHER BYLETH!” _ he shouts,  _ “I HAVE ALREADY SPOKEN TO PROFESSOR BYLETH, I AM REFERRING TO THE OTHER PROFESSOR BYLETH!” _

Seteth spins on his heel and storms back out through the doors. Claude whistles.

“Oh dear,” he says.

“Missing?!” Annette’s fingers fly to her mouse and she scrolls through the page at top speed, searching for anything about a missing reincarnated goddess. “How could one of them be  _ missing?!” _

“I don’t know,” Claude says. He’s doing the same thing. “I don’t remember anything like this in the reports.”

“This is stupid,” Felix says from the other side of Claude, “None of this makes sense. Half of it is garbage and the other half is stuff we already know.”

“Then go to a different page!” Annette says.

“I have.”

“Well — I don’t know!” She leans back in her chair; she hasn’t found anything new, either. “Claude, have you found anything?”

He hums. “Nope.”

She groans. “Lysithea?”

She’s curt. “Nope.”

“This  _ sucks.” _

“It sucks indeed,” Claude says. “Look, I’m gonna be honest here, I already went through this whole thing.”

“Then why are we here?” Felix spits.

“What if I missed something?”

The concept of Claude missing anything is absurd. “You didn’t,” Annette says. He sighs.

“I noticed.” He closes his browser and logs out before leaning back in his chair. “Now we know, I guess.”

Annette logs out as well and stands. “I need to go outside,” she says, “Let me know if you figure anything out about, uh,  _ that.” _

Claude waves her off. “Will do.”

Annette leaves through the main doors, into the main hallway, down the main stairs. Everywhere she goes people are speaking in hushed voices; she gets the impression Seteth stopped to accuse everyone he passed of abducting Professor Byleth.

Everyone on campus is tense. Annette and Lysithea deliberately pair up anytime they’re outside their dorms and often they’re joined by several of their friends, including Ashe, who should really be taking time off from school, and Mercie, who’s more stressed than she’s ever seen her. 

Somehow, it doesn’t come close to the outright panic growing even louder from higher up.

Annette and Lysithea stumble across Seteth several times but he doesn’t seem to notice their presence. His sharp eye is gone, all detail lost as he looks in increasingly unlikely places for their missing professor. Headmaster Rhea is unfocused and paranoid, and her usually carefully pinned hair falls around her face and down her back.

The other Byleth and Jeralt don’t sleep.

“She’s not underground,” Byleth says, “And she doesn’t seem to be in the woods.”

“Our men haven’t found a trace of her either,” Jeralt says. His voice wavers. Byleth pats him on the back.

“She’ll be okay,” he says, “She’s tough. Tougher than both of us.”

Annette and Lysithea sneak away from their top secret eavesdropping spot in the open hallway before they can be caught.

“If she  _ is _ the goddess reborn,” Claude says later in the privacy of the gardens under the cover of dusk, “Then either she’ll escape unscathed or we’re all doomed.”

“I don’t wanna be doomed,” Annette says.

“I’m not fond of the thought, either.” Claude rubs his temples. “Where could she  _ be?” _

“Maybe she ran off with Professor Manuela,” Felix grunts. The group goes silent and slowly turns their heads to face him. He blinks around at all of them. “What?”

“Why would she do that?” Lysithea asks.

“Why the fuck should I know?”

“Then why did you even  _ say _ that?” Annette asks.

“They’re both gone, aren’t they?”

A pause.

“You knew that, right?” Felix asks.

“No,” Lysithea says, “None of us knew that.”

“How do  _ you _ know that?” Annette asks.

“How don’t  _ you?” _ he asks, “You both take her classes.”

Annette looks down at her own hands gripping pages and pages of notes. “They were canceled,” she says.

“Yeah,” Felix says like this is an obvious conclusion.

“You think that means she’s  _ gone?” _

“Wait,” Claude says, “How long has Professor Manuela been missing?”

Felix shrugs. “I assume around as long as Professor Byleth.”

“And Headmaster Rhea knows?”

“Why wouldn’t she know?”

They look between one another, each of them coming to the same conclusion on their own.

“They don't even care!” Annette wails, “Seteth and Headmaster Rhea don’t even care that Professor Manuela is missing! They only care about Professor Byleth!”

“That’s…” Claude scratches his chin in thought, “Professor Manuela’s been here for a long time. Years.”

“Yeah!” 

A pause.

“I don’t like that,” Claude finally says.

_ “What if it’s part of her plan?!”  _ Annette stomps her foot,  _ “What if this is all on purpose?!” _

He presses his lips together and says, “We can’t rule that out.”

“Great,” Felix says, “So what do we do?”

Claude closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. “We assume everything we’ve found is true, we assume she has some sort of plan, and we guess what that plan  _ is.” _

“That’s a lot of assumptions,” Felix says.

“Do you have anything better?”

He looks away. “No.”

“Great! Unless you’d rather do nothing, come on.” He pats Felix on the back and throws his other arm around Annette’s shoulder. Lysithea crosses her arms and taps her shoe. Claude ignores her. “We need to talk in private. Let’s go.”

Claude herds them all to his shared dorm and pushes them through the door, shutting it behind him. Annette takes a seat next to Felix on Felix’s bed. They’ve gotten a bit better at cleaning up but her nose still wrinkles up at the dirty dishes on Felix’s desk.

“So —” Claude begins when he’s interrupted by a soft knock on the door. He looks around at the rest of them, puzzled, and opens it again.

Mercie stands on the other side, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and eyes wide. Mercie, serene, collected, visibly stressed Mercie, doesn’t even bother calming the room with a smile. “I was in the cathedral,” she says with no preamble, “When I started hearing the strangest thing. Someone screaming from below.”

“Did you follow us?” Claude asks.

Annette doesn’t have the energy for that; she closes her eyes and sighs. “Now isn’t the time for ghost stories,” she says.

“It sounded nothing like a ghost,” Mercie says. This is, somehow, scarier.

“What did it sound like?” Claude asks, suddenly serious, “Did it sound like Professor Byleth?”

“I don’t know,” she says.

“Oh,” Claude says, “Did you see anything?”

She shakes her head.

“Oh.”

“We should go look,” Lysithea says despite looking absolutely terrified, “What if it has something to do with Professor Byleth?”

“If it has something to do with Professor Byleth then we should get other Professor Byleth,” Claude says.

“I tried to find him first,” Mercie says, “He’s gone, and so is their father. They’re pursuing a lead.”

“Ah,” Claude says.

“So it’s probably not even her,” Annette says. Mercie shakes her head.

“Perhaps not, but someone’s in danger.” She sighs, shaking. “I can’t go alone. I won’t ask the knights.”

“Oh no,” Annette says.

“You want us to join you,” Claude says. It’s not a question.

She nods. “Yes.”

Felix stands immediately. “I’ll come with.”

“Now, Felix —”

“Me too,” Lysithea cuts Claude off. Annette looks between her two determined friends and sighs.

“Me too,” she says.

“Okay, hang on,” Claude says, “We need to run reconnaissance. We need to be prepared.”

“We need to  _ hurry,” _ Felix says, “I thought we didn’t wanna be the bad guys. I thought we didn’t want anyone to  _ die.” _

Claude almost seems to deflate. “I’m not saying we can’t do anything, just that there’s no point running into a lost battle.  _ We _ could die.”

“Hey, uh, is everything okay?”

Ignatz pokes his head between Mercie’s shoulder and the door jamb. Annette’s struck by how stupid they were to have this conversation with the door wide open.

“No,” Felix says before Claude can launch into an explanation, “Mercedes heard screaming in the cathedral and nobody’s around to check if it’s someone who needs help.”

Ignatz’s eyes widen. The effect with his glasses is kinda funny, even with the situation at hand. “Oh no, what — what do we do?”

“We all have training in this,” Felix says, “We’re going ourselves.”

“Come with us,” Lysithea says. Ignatz looks between her and Felix and Claude.

“I suppose that’s the only option,” he says, “I can’t stand by and let someone get hurt.”

“Great,” Felix says, “We have more people. Let’s go.”

“One more archer isn’t enough,” Claude says, “You’re the only one here who can fight in close combat.”

Felix looks at each of them in turn, silent. After a pause he says, “Fuck.”

“Let me get Raph,” Ignatz says. “And — oh,  _ Caspar!” _

_ “What?” _

Ignatz retreats out of sight. Annette can hear his muffled voice speaking with Caspar and Caspar’s enthusiastic response.

“I can ask Dedue,” Mercie says. Claude sighs and nods and she leaves the doorway as well. 

“How about this,” Claude says to the original three still in the room with him, “Get your, uh, supplies, and we’ll meet in front of the cathedral. Okay?”

Annette grabs Felix’s arm and drags him with her. “Okay!”

* * *

Twenty minutes later Annette jogs up to the small group standing in front of the cathedral doors with Felix in tow. 

“Sorry I took so long!” She says.

“No problem,” Claude says, “We were just going over our plan.”

Annette nods and looks over the group — Claude stands furthest from the doors next to her, deep in thought. Ignatz, Raphael, and Caspar stand on his other side, the latter two ready for battle and the former looking around nervously. Closest to the cathedral doors is Mercie, Dedue, Dimitri, Sylvain, and Dorothea, who Annette doesn’t know very well. On her other side is Lysithea and —

“Bernadetta?!” Annette stares. “I’m — uh, surprised to see you here.”

Bernadetta immediately turns her stare to her feet. “Lysithea says someone’s in trouble,” she squeaks out.

“We’ll make sure they’re okay,” Felix says. He tears his arm out of Annette’s grasp and asks Mercie’s group, “Why are all of you here?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Same reason as Bernadetta.”

“Now is not the time,” Dedue says. Felix scowls. Annette turns to Claude.

“Well? What’s the plan?” she asks.

His expression is serious. He seems to run over several trains of thought before saying, “We get under the cathedral and see what’s going on.”

She blinks. “Not much of a plan.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, “Not that we have much of a choice.”

The air shifts uneasily within the group. They stand in silence for a few seconds before Mercie speaks.

“There’s no use waiting,” she says, “Let’s go.”

Annette swallows and watches Dedue and Dimitri push the double doors open, revealing a dusty aisle between long pews. She’s never liked the cathedral. It’s old, it’s stinky, there’s nothing good there, she has stupid dreams about her dead dad standing in it and ignoring her, and she’s discovering it’s incredibly creepy at night.

Despite being tall and spacious its walls seem to close in on her, to choke her as she steps in. Moonlight peeks through the stained glass windows and illuminates bits and pieces of the room in unnatural colors, leaving unnatural shadows that creep up the aisles between the pews and threaten to drag Annette down. Under. Through the floor, to where she’s currently going.

Oh boy.

“How will we get down there?” She refuses to let her voice stutter. 

“Well, I don’t want to make it seem like I know every secret passage and shortcut on campus,” Claude says, “But I know every secret passage and shortcut on campus. There’s a hidden door to some stairs I found a while ago. It’s hard to spot. Super inconspicuous.”

Annette looks all around. “Where?!”

Claude gestures for everyone to follow and steps lightly along the wall, pausing every few steps to try and catch the supposed screaming coming from below and continuing when there’s been no significant change. He brings them through an enormous archway near the front into a room with no light and clears his throat. Annette summons a handful of flames and holds it up like a torch. In front of her is a massive set of doors that almost seem to absorb the light.

“Oh,” she says.

“Super incognito,” Claude says.

“So where is it, then?” Lysithea asks. He gestures to the very conspicuous doors in front of them.

“Right here.”

“...Claude.” Lysithea says.

“Let’s go!”

Annette watches Claude struggle with the doors until Raphael takes pity on him and pulls them open easily. Immediately the distant sounds of yells and weapons clashing echo up into the room they’re standing in. Claude pretends that isn’t terrifying and gestures through the open door.

“I found it,” he says.

Annette looks through the doorway and down a dark stairwell into nothing. “No you didn’t.”

“I assure you I did.”

“It seems Claude was correct,” Dimitri says. He squares his shoulders and walks through first. “Come, we must go.” 

Claude sighs and follows him down the stairs and, one by one, everybody else does, too. Annette swallows her fears and takes up the rear, leaving the doors wide open behind her. Those that can use magic carry fistfulls of fire to illuminate the long, shallow stairs until, finally, they emerge through a dim archway into what looks like a cavernous mausoleum.

If Annette thought the cathedral was creepy then this basement is downright  _ disturbing. _

The stench of wet and decay weighs heavy in the air and dulls the crashes of the fight directly in front of them, filling the room with an anxious imminence of death. An expanse of smooth, slippery stone, worn down over who knows how many years, reflects the dull blue lights hanging sparsely from the ceiling and seems to cast its own eerie, green glow. Annette swallows and takes in the utterly terrifying procession of graves flanking an aisle, at the center of which is a large raised dais fenced in by stone topped with glowing arcane crystals. 

And through it all, beyond the dais and framed by an incredible throne, Professor Byleth can be clearly seen; her familiar sword transforms in front of them and whips through the air, echoing  _ crack  _ after  _ crack _ in the open room with every swing. Her boots slide against the floor as she seems to skate over its damp surface in a violent dance with an enormous assailant in heavy black plate armor curving their heavy sickle and matching her, blow for blow, twisting with surprising agility. 

Dimitri leaps into action, throwing himself over the rail and directly down the aisle with no hesitation; Dedue follows immediately and Caspar and Raphael race behind.

“Wow,” Claude says, “They’re not subtle.”

Caspar’s screaming and Dedue’s armor echo in the wide open room.

“They’re gonna die,” Annette says.

“Not if we act fast.” Annette turns to Claude and finds that everyone else is watching him, too. “We’ll go around the outside against the walls. Hide behind the rubble, the pillars, and those, uh, gravestones.”

“You want us to fight?” Ignatz asks with side eyes. His knuckles are white around his bow.

“We brought our weapons, didn’t we?” Claude says, “This is what we came here for. The more of us join the fight the more likely it is we all live.”

“Not exactly inspiring confidence,” Ignatz mutters.

“Run away if you get hurt,” Claude continues, “Everyone who can, keep your distance. Felix, Ignatz, Lysithea, come with me. Mercedes, Sylvain, Dorothea, Bernadetta, Annette, go down the right wall.”

Annette’s hands and legs shake and her heart thunders. Fear fills her body and tells her to run, to hide, but she doesn’t. She can’t. She runs, sprints to the right wall surrounded by the footsteps of her friends, slipping on the wet stone and regaining her balance as she races to the fight.

“Hold!” Sylvain shouts. Bernadetta yelps as he grabs her collar and forces her to duck, narrowly avoiding one of Professor Byleth’s spells. Dorothea keeps running, Annette follows, and the footsteps behind her resume.

Dorothea gets there first. She’s surprisingly fierce; she throws a handful of fire into the fight, between two rapidly moving bodies, and hits the knight’s between the helmet’s glowing eyes. She’s immediately thrown back against the wall by an invisible volley.

“Don’t do that,” she mutters, rubbing her head. Sylvain rushes past her and directly into the battle. Bernadetta hides behind a pillar and takes aim, and Annette drops to Dorothea’s side to heal her.

She can’t see anything on the other side of the fight; she can barely see anything at all, really. Everything’s moving so fast, it’s so dark, Dimitri slips and tries to sweep the knight from underneath and only lives thanks to Raphael pulling him away from a heavy blow. Annette’s breath comes shallow, panicked. Dorothea raises a hand, lightning magic crackles up her arm, but it fizzles out when Dedue blocks the knight from view. Caspar shouts. Sylvain shoulders his way through and takes a swing. Bernadetta shoots an arrow and screams.

And yet, above the sounds of running and slipping and fighting and screaming, a pair of steady footsteps cuts through everything. The battle seems to freeze as everyone looks to the source.

Approaching them, slow and confident, is someone Annette’s never seen before and who she immediately identifies as  _ the Flame Emperor. _ Her eyes dart to Dimitri’s face, contorted with rage, and she’s positive; this is the one responsible for unrest in the kingdom. This is the one responsible for the rebellion that killed Ashe’s father.

As much as she wants to be furious, to cut between her friends and this villain with a wall of flames, she can’t. She’s frozen. She’s stuck to the floor and her knees shake rather than bend. 

Instead she watches their death approach in slow motion.

“Come,” they say.

The simple command seems to awaken something in Byleth; Annette’s eye catches the movement and she turns her head just in time to see her wrap her weird sword around the knight’s scythe, just in time to see the knight rip their weapon away and bring it down on her, just in time to see —

_ “Now.” _

— it stop.

The blade halts just above Byleth’s shoulder, close enough to her neck that Annette can’t see any separation from her angle. Byleth glares, murderous, but doesn’t make a move to counterattack.

And then they — the Flame Emperor, the knight — disappear in a flash of light and Byleth falls to her knees.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she heaves out between heavy breaths. Annette runs to her side. Byleth pushes her healing magic away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re really not,” Annette says.

“Mercedes, would you —” Claude stops. Annette goes cold and she turns, slow, to see Claude facing back toward the entrance.

There, haloed by the dull light coming from the staircase, stands Mercedes frozen where they left her, her arms wrapped around herself, staring vacant at the aftermath of the fight.

A hand rests on Annette’s shoulder. “I’ll look after Professor Byleth,” Dorothea says in a quiet voice, “You take care of Mercedes.”

Annette nods and races down the empty center aisle and up the stairs to Mercie’s side. She doesn’t react even when Annette wraps her arms around her.

“Mercie?” she asks, “What’s wrong?”

She inhales, shaky, and Annette watches her frozen expression crumble into choking sobs. The shuffling of everything she left behind fades into the background and she pulls Mercedes in close.

“I hoped it wasn’t real,” Mercedes whispers against her shoulder through her tears, “I didn’t want it to be real.”

Annette holds her tighter. “What, Mercie?”

She takes a shuddering breath and says, “Emile. That was Emile.”

* * *

  
  


Mercedes isn’t okay.

She’s not alone; immediately after the battle she finds Ashe in his dorm and takes him back to hers. She doesn’t explain. She doesn’t go to class. She doesn’t want to see Annette. Annette and Lysithea take turns leaving meals outside her door and, well, at least they know the two of them are still eating.

Byleth isn’t okay, either, but she’s in high spirits by the next day; Annette and Lysithea find reason after reason to pass the infirmary door, behind which they can hear Byleth laughing with her father and brother. They catch Seteth leaving a handful of times as well, and Headmaster Rhea seems to have taken up some sort of vigil in the room.

Manuela’s found as well. Which is weird. She seems unharmed, but she’s incredibly disoriented and needs a few days of bedrest. Byleth said she found her unconscious in the mausoleum and, while it’s assumed the knight brought her there, nobody actually knows and Manuela remembers nothing.

What’s particularly weird, though, is how crabby Catherine is.

“Do you think it’s because other Byleth yelled at her?” Annette asks after passing her in the hall outside the infirmary.

“Maybe,” Lysithea says, “I don’t know. Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“It’s all weird.”

“No.” Lysithea sighs. “They don’t know each other, right?”

Annette shrugs.

“I don’t think they do.” They turn a corner and walk down a set of stairs to the first floor and into the open quad. “But she  _ really _ hates Byleth.”

“Maybe it’s one of those hate at first sight things,” Annette says.

“You really think it’s as simple as that?”

Annette considers how absolutely nothing in her life has been simple for several weeks. “No.”

“I’m just saying, it’s weird.”

They find Felix sitting next to Ingrid on a metal bench with his arms crossed tightly around himself while Ingrid eats from a bag of chips. Lysithea takes a seat next to him and Annette sits cross-legged in the grass and takes a moment to feel the sunshine on her skin.

“I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” Felix says.

“Oh, shut up,” she snaps back.

“No, seriously —”

_ “Eep!” _

Annette ducks and covers her head as a shadow leaps over her, seemingly unconcerned with her presence, and shouts,  _ “Over here!” _ She looks up and watches, dumbfounded, as Sylvain runs the rest of the length of the quad and dives to catch a fluorescent blue frisbee.

“Excellent work!” Dimitri shouts from behind her. Sylvain gives him a thumbs up.

“Why is he like this?” she groans.

“Because he’s annoying and dumb,” Felix says. Ingrid elbows him in his side. “Am I  _ wrong?” _

“No,” she says, “But you don’t have to say it out loud.”

“Whatever,” he mutters and sinks lower into his seat.

Annette doesn’t move; instead she lounges back from her spot in the grass and watches the two throw a stupid disk back and forth. She hasn’t had much opportunity to relax, to not think about knights and wars and deaths and prophecies. As much as Sylvain gets on her nerves she almost wishes she could be like him; carefree, thoughtless. Not a damn problem in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I took about a month off which is a REALLY long time for me. I spent most of that writing the dumbest fic known to mankind but I also spent a chunk detailing the outline for this! I work better with a detailed outline so hopefully we won’t have another long break until (checks notes) after chapter 13
> 
> I know a lot happened and it may have flowed better had I cut it, but the next chapter NEEDS to be felix pov so. Here we are
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! This fic is extremely self indulgent and I’m back and forth on hating it but that’s normal so I’m just powering through lol. 
> 
> stay safe!
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	8. The Crest Stone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for canon typical violence and description of gore and decay. This chapter involves Miklan and references related child abuse. Take care!

“We have a bit of a problem.”

Felix keeps his eyes trained on the spiral-bound notebook in front of him where he’s painstakingly drawing out a labeled diagram of a sword next to an approximation of Professor Byleth’s sword, complete with motion sketches to capture the way it whips through the air. He doesn’t respond.

“I’ve just received a message from Fraldarius,” Dimitri continues, “Felix, your father has sent us some, ah, disturbing news.”

He takes a deep breath in and a deep breath out. “What?” he forces out through his teeth.

“There has been some strange activity,” Dimitri says, “Reports from travelers, even some photos.”

“Spit it out.”

“There seem to be some beasts.” Felix looks up just in time to see Dimitri look down to the letter in his hand. “Of course, these types of beasts are believed to be extinct. It’s unclear where they’ve come from.”

“Where did they come from?” he asks because he doesn't know how to listen.

“That’s the problem,” Dimitri says, “We don’t know. Claude said, ah —”

“Yes, Claude said.” Felix’s eyes dart to Professor Byleth at the front of the room conversing with Ingrid and lowers his voice. “So? You think that’s it?”

Dimitri’s posture is frozen, his shoulder stiff. He says, “That is my fear, yes. They had to have come from somewhere.” He sighs. “I’ve already responded to Rodrigue approving his request for assistance.”

“Fine.” Rodrigue could’ve contacted Felix, too, but whatever. “He can’t handle it himself? Why?”

“His presence was urgently requested in Fhirdiad.” Dimitri shifts on his feet. “It seems my uncle as well as Cornelia need his assistance with the, ah, problems in the west.”

“Whatever, fine.” Felix closes his notebook and gathers his things. He intends to end the conversation there. Dimitri, however, has a different idea.

“Glenn has requested to accompany us,” he says. Felix’s gut sinks. “As I told you before, your brother was expected to meet with us after the problems in Gaspard. Of course, there was the ah, the complication…”

The unsaid name of Ashe’s father hangs heavy in the air.

“But he’s coming now,” Felix says, sharp.

“Yes.” Dimitri looks at him, _really_ looks at him, and Felix has to look away. “He’s been approved to assist us. It’s, ah, well you know it’s his family’s lands, um —”

“No shit.”

“Right, yes. Anyway, I think it would be wise to not involve the knights.”

That may be the smartest thing he’s ever heard Dimitri say. “You’re right,” he says. He turns to leave again.

“Thank you, Felix,” Dimitri says. Felix freezes and waits for whatever stupid, sappy thing is about to fall out of his mouth. “I know we have our differences, but please know you and your family are very dear to me.”

A pause while he fights the urge to cringe away. “I know,” he forces out before he hurries out through the door and into the quad far, far away from _that._

* * *

  
  


Felix succeeds in avoiding everyone who’s met his brother for the rest of the day; he sticks to his own dorm, doesn’t answer the door, and spends several hours staring at the wall instead.

“That bad?” Claude asks.

He shrugs. “No.”

“Then why have you been lying motionless on your bed for two hours?”

He turns to look at Claude, elbow deep in textbooks and not paying attention to a single one. “Because,” he explains.

Claude smirks. “Because..? What?”

“None of your business,” Felix snaps.

Claude’s smirk grows. “Am I about to learn all about the Fraldarius family secrets?”

“There _aren’t_ any secrets.” Felix sighs and sits up and stares at his knees, instead. “I’m just trying to get some fucking peace before everything goes to shit tomorrow morning.”

“Ah.” Claude’s interest fades immediately. “Well, good luck with that.”

He needs it.

The following morning, when the sun has barely risen and Felix has gotten maybe half a night’s sleep, a familiar rhythmic pounding on the door tears him out of bed cursing and yelling. He rips the door open and glares up at his stupid fucking brother.

 _“Baby Fewix,”_ Glenn says with a devious grin, “Did you get a good night’s sleep?”

Felix is overcome by the urge to throw Glenn through his window by his ponytail. His hand darts out to grab on but Glenn has the unfair advantage of actually being awake and he ducks out of the way with ease.

“Fuck you,” Felix says instead. Claude snorts behind him. “You woke up my roommate, dick.”

Glenn fakes a pout. “I’m sowwy, baby Fewix’s roommate!” he says much, much too loud.

“I love you,” Claude grunts. Glenn laughs, open and loose. 

“Put your grown up clothes on,” Glenn says, “We’re getting tea.”

Felix blinks. “We are not.”

“Oh yes we are, baby brother.Let’s go.”

Felix tries to shut the door but Glenn shoves his stupid steel-toed boot in the way. He came prepared and Felix is fighting a losing battle. What a waste of fucking time.

 _“Fine,”_ Felix grits out. Glenn’s smug smile shines through the gap in the door. “Let me put some fucking pants on.”

“Hurry up, ‘Lixie-poo!”

Claude openly guffaws.

“Glenn, I _will_ kill you.”

Felix stumbles into a pair of track pants and a t-shirt that can pass as clean as quickly as he can before leaving his room and pushing Glenn away from the door so he can lock it. Glenn throws an arm over his shoulders and pulls him into a half hug that Felix reluctantly reciprocates.

“C’mon,” he says, “I went through the trouble of finding you first. Nobody else even knows I’m here. You’re welcome.”

Despite every inch of him demanding to be angry something about the sentiment lightens the heavy weight in his gut. Felix smiles. Just a little.

“Thanks,” he says.

  
  


* * *

“So,” Glenn asks as he sets his half-drunk cup down, “A lot’s happened.”

Felix blinks. “No shit.”

“No shit, indeed.” The sun has risen enough by now to cast a warm orange glow through the gardens. They’re still cool behind the shade of the hedges and the air tastes sharp and refreshing. Glenn considers his words and frowns into his cup and asks, “Have you heard from Miklan recently?”

Felix’s entire body cringes away from both the conversation and the mere memory of that shithead. “No.”

“Hm.” Glenn looks back at him. His eyebrows are furrowed together in thought. “He was sending me the _rudest_ emails for awhile, you know.”

“What? Why?”

He shrugs. “Revenge, probably. He got disowned and I didn’t.” He takes another sip of tea before continuing. “The guy’s fucked up.”

Memories of Miklan yelling at kids much younger than him, throwing children’s toys against the wall and threatening him anytime Sylvain was around, even the occasional nightmare with his face contorting in rage flash through his mind. He doesn’t want to say no shit again, but he can’t think of anything better, so he says it anyway.

“No shit.”

“He just stopped,” Glenn says, “It was damn near daily and out of nowhere they just stopped coming.”

“Maybe he put his head back on,” Felix suggests.

“Maybe,” Glenn says.

What they know to be true goes unspoken; Miklan never had a head to put on in the first place. If he’s let go of his opportunity to make life hell for someone else it’s because he was forced to. Good riddance, in Felix’s opinion.

“If something happened,” Glenn continues, “I hope Sylvain’s okay.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Why wouldn’t he be? Of all of us, Miklan was the worst to him.”

Glenn shrugs. “A long time ago he told me he wished he could fix everything.”

“Why? That’s not his problem.”

“That’s not how he thinks of it.” Glenn shakes his head. “Check in with him, would you? You’re closer to him than I am.”

Felix thinks about the ever-widening chasm between himself and Sylvain, the one that cracked when they first met and only continued to crumble over the years with nothing but a brittle rope bridge connecting the two. He thinks of all the times Sylvain has tried to cross that bridge, stepping carefully over crumbling boards, all with an impossibly bright smile on his face while Felix stood frozen on the ground on the other side.

Maybe, with everything they’re all going through, it’s time for him to take that first impossible step.

“Fine,” he says. Glenn grins.

“I knew I could count on you,” he says.

“Whatever you say.”

The topic of Miklan is dropped and instead they talk about the kingdom, Felix’s classes, and other stupid shit until their pot runs dry and they’re leaning back in their chairs saying nothing at all. Glenn bids him goodbye around eight; turns out, to Felix’s secret delight, the only reason he showed up at Garreg Mach so early was to see him before he’s whisked off to meeting after meeting with the Headmaster, Professor Byleth, and Dimitri. 

“Answer my fucking emails,” Felix says before he runs off. Glenn doesn’t make any promises; he gives Felix a thumbs-up and goes wherever the fuck Glenn goes. 

Campus is just beginning to come alive for breakfast when they part. Felix goes to the dining hall to grab something quick before training. He means for it to be a short trip, and and out, but on the other end of the dining hall is Sylvain, leaning against the wall, speaking animatedly with Dorothea. He groans. His conversation with Glenn is fresh in his mind and, loathe as he is to admit it, the thought of Sylvain keeping any news of his brother secret feels toxic in his gut. He sighs. He has to ask.

“Sylvie, dear —” Dorothea’s eyes light up in surprise when she sees Felix approaching, though she quickly masks it with a smile. “Felix! What an unexpected pleasure.”

He grunts.

“Oh! Hey, Felix.” Sylvain masks _something_ with a smile, “We were just talking about —”

“Have you heard from Miklan?” Felix asks, cutting him off, straight to the point. Sylvain’s smile hardens and he drops it, his face turning serious.

“No,” he says, “My father went through the trouble of filing for a restraining order. I haven’t heard from him in years. Why?”

Felix shrugs and turns to walk away and escape this conversation but he’s stopped by Sylvain’s hand on his shoulder.

“Did something happen?” he asks, quieter.

“Don’t know,” Felix says before shaking his hand off. Sylvain lets him go. “Glenn asked.”

“What?” 

“He just asked.” Felix sighs. “I don’t know, Sylvain. He told me to ask you and I’m asking you. That’s all I know.”

He walks away and doesn’t look back until he’s holding a bagel and standing in the northern archway. Sylvain and Dorothea don’t notice; their heads are close together, expressions serious. Felix shakes his head and keeps walking. 

* * *

When Felix rolls out of bed at the asscrack of dawn the next morning Claude’s still awake, scrawling notes directly in the books he’s reading and dogearing pages in the low light of his desk lamp and the fresh pink of the rising sun.

“Morning, sunshine,” Claude says, his voice lacking its usual cheer. He gestures toward Lysithea, who’s passed out on top of several tomes. “We’ve been working real hard.”

Felix waits until his feet are flat on the ground and his body’s vertical before responding. “I see that.”

“I haven’t found much yet,” Claude says, “But you’ll be the first to know once you’re back. You’ll give me updates, yeah?”

Felix nods. The words move like tar through his brain and lose half their meaning by the time they sink in. “Tell me what you just said when I’m awake,” he mumbles.

“You’ll be halfway to Fraldarius before you’re awake,” Claude says.

Claude’s right. He barely drags his body and his luggage down his dormitory hallway, across campus, and to the stupid fucking schoolbus. He’s positive he’s forgotten something. He’s too tired to care. He passes out somewhere between literally climbing up the bus stairs and taking a seat in the back and doesn’t wake up until the sun is much, much higher.

 _“Finally!”_ Annette sighs as she barely comes into focus. He stares. “You’ve been asleep _forever._ I thought I was gonna be alone this entire bus ride.”

“Mercedes is right there,” Felix grunts out. On the other side of the aisle Mercedes doesn’t respond. Ashe is passed out on her shoulder.

“She’s not up to conversation,” Annette tells him. “I’ve been talking to myself this entire time.”

“That’s fucking sad,” Felix says.

“But now you’re here!” Annette says, chipper as ever.

“I’ve _been_ here,” he says.

“And now you’re more here.” She leans back in her seat. “We’re still really far away. Professor Byleth said we’ll be staying in a motel somewhere.”

Better than sleeping on the ground. Felix grunts.

“He said we can’t share a room though,” Annette says.

“Of course we can’t,” Felix says.

“I thought it was worth asking.” She shrugs. “We need to talk, though. Quietly.”

He rolls his eyes and looks at her. “Quietly. You got it.”

“So,” she says, “Dimitri can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“No shit.”

“What that _means,”_ she continues, “Is Professor Byleth knows something’s up.”

The pieces fall into place. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, he did.”

“What the fuck did he tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Annette says, “Not a lot, I don’t think. I heard him ask if these beasts could be men and Professor Byleth asked what that even means. I don’t know how much more he shared.”

“That fucking moron,” Felix mutters.

“So just, you know, heads up.”

“Claude’s gonna kill him,” Felix says.

“And Linhardt’s gonna worship him,” Annette says. “He’s been wanting to ask Byleth directly for awhile.”

“Well at least one of us gets what they want,” Felix says.

“I guess so,” Annette says.

* * *

The conversation drops. Felix listens to Annette make up a roadtrip song for a few hours, Mercedes is willing to speak every so often, Glenn says something stupid from the front of the bus, and stoic Professor Byleth actually cracks a smile, sending half the lions into an uproar.

“Okay, okay!” Byleth shouts over the yelling and cheering, “We’re almost to the motel, everybody. Calm down. I have room assignments here.”

“Assignments?” Felix mutters, “Why can’t I choose… fuck.” Felix groans when he takes the assignment sheet and looks for his name. Annette laughs at him.

“Holy shit,” she says.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters.

“Have fun!”

Later, in his motel room shared with Glenn, Sylvain, and Ashe, Felix considers going into the woods and never returning.

“So!” Sylvain throws himself down on the shitty motel mattress and shifts the whole fucking thing so Felix actually bounces. He scowls. Sylvain continues. “Can I ask you a question?”

“No,” Felix snaps. Glenn snickers behind him.

“Are you dating Annette?”

_“What?!”_

“C’mon!” Sylvain rests his head in his hands like he’s a little kid at a fucking slumber party. “I saw you two talkin’ all quiet. Are you dating?”

Felix rolls his eyes. “No, you fucking moron. I’m not dating Annette.”

“Wittle baby Fewix!” Glenn laughs, “He’s all grown up!”

“Shut the _fuck_ up!”

“If you weren’t having a secret date,” Sylvain says, “What were you talking about?”

Felix tries to burn him down with a glare. Sylvain smiles, completely innocent. He scoffs and looks away. “You know what we were talking about,” he mutters.

“Ooh, so you _are_ dating!”

“No!” Felix shoots a hand out and covers his mouth. He glances at Glenn who’s blatantly watching this all unfold with a smirk. “We were talking about, you know,” his voice drops to a whisper, _“The thing.”_

 _“Ooh,”_ Sylvain whispers through his hand. He removes it so he can speak clearly. _“Do you think this is..?”_

Felix nods. Unfortunately for him, Glenn’s nosy.

“What thing?” he asks loudly, startling poor Ashe.

“None of your business,” Felix snaps back. 

“Aw, c’mon! I’m your brother!” Glenn pouts. “You’d tell stupid Sylvain and not even your own loving brother?”

“Holy fuck, go away! Mind your own business!”

“My baby brother _is_ my business!”

“Go the _fuck_ to sleep!” Felix throws a pillow at Glenn’s face. Glenn catches it effortlessly and launches onto the mattress next to Felix.

“Race you,” he says. Felix rolls his eyes and lays down. “And the rest of you! I’m your chaperone, go to sleep!”

“We’re all adults,” Sylvain says with a hint of laughter.

“I don’t care, go to sleep!”

* * *

_“I love you,” a voice whispers, ghosting heat across his cheek. “I love you.”_

_“I love you,” Felix says, natural as breathing._

_A man — Sylvain — pulls back. The few years they’ve spent together since the end of the war have been good to him; he’s put on some weight, softening his edges and sculpted muscles into something even warmer, even more comforting. His jaw is rough from only a day’s worth of growth. Felix runs his hands up his stomach, over his chest, relishing in the feeling of Sylvain’s soft skin and body hair._

_“I’ll be home soon,” Sylvain says. Promises. Felix trusts him with everything he has, everything he’s ever been._

_“I know,” he says before pulling Sylvain down into a kiss. “I know.”_

_Dread washes over his body. It doesn’t fit. It doesn’t match the comfort of the scene he’s in. It’s cold, ice seeping through his body, out of control and growing, expanding, cracking deep in his bones._

_It’s then he realizes he doesn’t control this body. His body. His hands run over Sylvain’s arms, run through his hair. He looks deep into his molten gold gaze and sees nothing but love, love, love. Felix wants to look away. He can’t. He can’t adjust his focus. He can’t close his eyes._

He’s dreaming. This is a dream.

_“I’ll be back within the month,” Sylvain tells him. He holds on, grasping him any way he can. “And when I’m back it’s for good. This is the last meeting, Felix. I’ll never leave you again.”_

_“Please,” Felix says. He’s begging. “Please.”_

_Sylvain smiles so, so sweet. “Anything,” he says, “Anything for you. I love you.”_

_A whirlwind passes in an eternity and no time at all, pulling him through what he recognizes as cold weeks and empty hours. The sudden storm settles and he lands feet-first in front of an open door where a snow squall whips past him and into his home, freezing his eyelashes together and somehow not even touching the ice inside._

_“Duke Fraldarius,” a man he’s never seen before says, “The king is arriving with an urgent message. His men will be here within the hour.”_

_He stands in an unfamiliar foyer. He’s bundled in furs and blankets, dragging them along with him as he steps back to allow the messenger into his home. He instructs his men to send the king to his study; he’ll be waiting._

_And then, in front of a fire with the smell of smoke curling around him, casting Dimitri’s scarred face in uneven shadows, he recognizes everything’s wrong._

_For one, Dimitri hasn’t slept. Felix hasn’t seen him so exhausted since the war, since he stood in front of the crumbled remains of the altar and prayed furious pleas to ghosts that weren’t around to hear him. The image strikes him, piercing and barbed. He has no time to consider it._

_“Felix,” Dimitri’s voice is rougher than the soft golden retriever voice he’s accustomed to, “I’m so, incredibly sorry.”_

_“What?” he snaps._

_“I —” Dimitri looks at him, swallows, and looks back into the fire. It reflects in his single eye, taunts him. “I’m afraid I come bearing terrible news.”_

_“I’ve noticed.” Felix can’t consider, won’t consider the possibilities. “Spit it out.”_

_“There is no easy way to say this.” Dimitri inhales. It’s a weak, shuddering thing. “I’m sorry, Felix. I — Sylvain —”_

_He stiffens. His long empty bed, his long empty halls, seem to push in on him and press the air from his lungs. “Sylvain what?”_

_“He’s —” Felix realizes Dimitri’s crying, “He’s been killed, Felix.”_

_“No he hasn’t,” Felix says, so confident and sure in Sylvain’s strength and in his central position in the universe. It all would fall apart without him. His world would surely crumble without him. “He’s just late. It happens.”_

_“No.” Dimitri’s voice drops to a whisper. He looks down at the parcel Felix has thus far refused to acknowledge. It’s long, thin, with a terrible bloody pull that makes him want to vomit. “He was — there was an assassination, Felix. This is… this is all we were able to recover.”_

_Felix swallows his tears. This is a disgusting, ill-advised prank coming from a person with no sense of humor to speak of. He’s sure of it. He’ll pull back the fabric wrapped around whatever’s inside and there will be nothing. Just a hollow laugh and a solid punch to Dimitri’s gut for daring to fuck with him like this._

_He drops to his knees on the ground and unwraps it, unravels it from its fabric packaging. He feels sick to his stomach._

_“No,” he chokes out. His tears are spilling, running down his face, unchecked and burning hot._

_“I’m sorry,” Dimitri whispers._

_Grasped tight in his hands is what he recognizes as the Lance of Ruin, a weapon that sleeping Felix immediately connects to Professor Byleth’s sword. The tip is stained with blood that’s soaked into the blade, never to be removed, and its stone pulses in a rapid beat. He could break it. He wants to fucking break it._

_“No.”_

_Whatever Dimitri says is lost to the night, to the fire, to the fury._

_“He promised.”_

_A hand grasps his shoulder tight. He tears himself away._

He tears himself away.

_“How… how could this happen?”_

“Felix!” a voice whispers urgently.

_“How could…”_

The hand returns and this time it shakes him, tears him away from the fire and the lance and into a soft world, a world where he’s sweat through his pajamas and a world where a pair of worried green eyes watch him, plead with him. He jerks up. He’s still crying.

“Felix,” Ashe whispers, “It’s okay. You’re here now. It’s okay.”

The dream or vision or whatever burns into his memory, refusing to fade away and refusing to give him peace. He whirls his head around and confirms Sylvain is sleeping peacefully in the other bed and then turns the other way and confirms Glenn — Glenn was dead in his dream, wasn’t he — confirms Glenn is sleeping as well.

“They’re okay, too,” Ashe tells him.

“I — he —” Felix tries to even out his breathing, tries counting with his inhale and fails. Ashe takes his hand and holds tight, anchoring him. “He died,” he finally says. “Sylvain died.”

Ashe glances back to Sylvain and says, “Like… like in a past life? He died in a past life?”

Felix nods. Ashe pulls him into a hug and they sit like that for awhile, listening to the deep, even breathing of their roommates.

“Tell me about it,” Ashe says. Felix nods. If anybody knows, if anybody can help him calm down, it’s Ashe.

In a low voice he describes his old dreams. He describes dreaming about their life together when he was a child, about how they lived in a house full of love and laughter and about how they were so happy. He describes how after meeting Sylvain and discovering he didn’t get the same dreams that they stopped. He describes the dreams returning after discovering this whole stupid prophecy shit, and he describes everything building up to Sylvain promising to come home, Sylvain being safe and warm, and he describes getting the news of Sylvain’s death from Dimitri. By the end of it all they’ve gotten out of his bed and are sitting on the floor in the corner of the room where they won’t disturb Glenn while Ashe describes his own dreams and nightmares in turn.

“He’s okay, Felix,” Ashe assures him. And Felix really admires the guy’s strength when he continues on to say, “We can save him, too. We know, now. We know what’s happening.”

There’s a pause where the only sound is Glenn’s even breathing from across the room. Felix sighs.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t save your father,” he whispers. 

Ash smiles. It’s weak, fragile. “Me too,” he says.

How will they save anybody? How will they save themselves? A thousand worlds and a thousand lives flash through Felix’s mind, all of them ending in their bloody, violent deaths. He takes a shaky, grounding breath. They’re screwed.

“I, uh,” Ashe says after awhile, “I think… I think I need to use the bathroom.”

Felix shrugs. “Don’t die.”

It’s not funny. Ashe chuckles anyway and squeezes his shoulder before standing and walking softly across the room and into the bathroom. The door closes. Felix sighs and leans his head back against the motel room wall. This is gonna be a long fucking trip full of long fucking awkward silences and long fucking nights. He can feel it in the weight against his shoulders and in the cold, hard floor under his ass.

“Hey, Felix?”

Great. Now, through the darkness of the room they share, he can hear it in the wavering in Sylvain’s voice, too.

“How much of that did you hear?” he asks. No point pretending nothing happened.

There’s a pause before Sylvain says, “All of it, I think.”

Felix closes his eyes. This is too fucking much. “Great.”

There’s a shuffling sound and he hears Sylvain approach him, followed by a soft _thud_ as he takes Ashe’s place next to him. Felix keeps his eyes closed. He hears the shower start. He listens to Glenn’s light snoring. It’s just him and Sylvain, and it will be for awhile.

Sylvain takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“Is that why you hate me so much?” he asks, quiet.

Felix doesn’t answer.

“It’s okay if that’s why,” he continues. Something pulls at his chest. Disappointment? Grief? “I understand. Fuck, I’d probably hate me, too.”

“You already do,” Felix says instead of addressing anything important. Sylvain chuckles.

“Yeah,” he says, “I guess you’re right.”

They sit like that, together, close enough to each feel the other’s warmth, for a long time. Long after Ashe comes out of the bathroom and sits with them. Long after Glenn gets up and pokes fun at them for being fucking weirdos. 

There’s a certain lightness to it all. A weight lifted off his shoulders. He realizes it was never about pressure or expectations from Sylvain or anybody else, but about his own unreasonably high standards for himself.

* * *

They leave at a semi-reasonable time the next morning. Not due to anyone’s careful planning or consideration for a normal person’s sleeping schedule, but because nobody can pull Ingrid out of bed when she doesn’t feel like getting up. Felix isn’t sure he’s grateful for the delay or resentful over sitting awake in his motel room for longer than necessary.

“Felix,” Annette says when he throws himself down next to her, “You look like shit.”

“Feel like it, too,” he mutters. She narrows her eyes at him.

“What happened?” she asks.

Felix looks at her, looks away, and looks at her again. “Sylvain knows,” he says.

Her brows furrow together. “He already knew about —”

 _“No.”_ Felix sighs. “He knows about our past lives.”

Annette just stares, horrified. He stares back, exhausted. 

“No,” she breathes out. He nods. _“No.”_

“Kill me,” Felix says.

“Felix…”

“Perfect! Just who I was hoping to see.”

Sylvain throws himself in the seat in front of them and drapes his body over the back to face them. For someone who’s been awake just as long as Felix he sure is fucking peppy. Felix looks out the window.

“Oh! Sylvain!” Annette says with a stiff false cheer, “It’s lovely to see you!”

“I told Annette you know,” Felix says instead of allowing the worst conversation possible happen in front of him. Annette relaxes and sinks down in the seat.

“Oh, thank fuck,” she groans.

“Hm? That I know what?”

Felix forces himself to glare directly at Sylvain, who’s giving him a look of false innocence. “You know damn well what you know.”

“Hm! Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry!” Sylvain laughs at his own stupid blatant lie before continuing, “I actually came back here to see what the two of you know.”

“Know about what?” Annette asks.

“You know, the beasts! Remember?” He looks around, scanning the seats around them for eavesdroppers, and leans in closer. “The report Claude pulled about men turning into beasts? Do you think..?”

Annette shakes her head. “We don’t know,” she says.

“You’re not exactly inspiring confidence,” Sylvain says.

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Felix shifts in his seat. Fuck, it’s hot back here and the seats are weirdly sticky. “I think we can assume that’s what’s going on here,” he says, pointedly at Annette.

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Damn,” Sylvain says.

Annette throws her hands up and groans. “What if they _are_ people? What do we even _do?!”_

“I don’t wanna think about that,” Felix mutters.

“Same,” Sylvain says.

“But if they are,” Felix says, “I don’t think we can save them. I think we already lost.”

“I guess we’ll have to deal with that as it comes,” Sylvain says, grim.

* * *

After several hours of uneven dirt road the bus pulls off and parks. Glenn and Professor Byleth both stand and open their mouths to start speaking, stop, look at each other, and open their mouths again.

“Uh, go on —”

“No, go ahead —”

“What were you going to say —”

Felix sinks in his seat. This is painful to watch. After a bit more of this Dimitri clears his throat and Professor Byleth speaks.

“The den is about a mile and a half east of here,” he says, “We’re going to walk the rest of the way. You may leave your things, but bring any weapons or gear you need to fight.”

Everyone around him groans but Felix is just grateful for a chance to breathe some fresh air. He grabs his swords and concoctions and is the first off the bus while everyone else rifles around in their things, grabbing tomes and blades and whatever else. The rest of his class joins him shortly and he quietly follows along, trailing behind with Ashe and Annette, happy to let everyone else lead the way. After fifteen minutes or so Byleth turns back to the group and raises his hand.

“They should be just over this ridge,” he says, gesturing behind him, “Everybody be prepared.”

Felix readies his sword and steps forward with the rest of his class. He swallows.

Ahead of them, down a slight decline into a valley filled with long-dead plantlife, is a small pack of monsters unlike anything Felix has seen outside story books. They’re twisted creatures, gray and rotten, moving almost robotically through the grassland. Felix is reminded of pixelated monsters in horror games and decides he prefers that to the sight and smell of flesh sloughing off their muscles and landing with a light _squelch_ underneath them. 

“Oh,” Ashe says next to him. Felix swallows.

“Oh,” he agrees.

“That’s… those might be _people?”_ Annette asks quietly. Felix closes his eyes to the scene.

“People don’t look like that,” he says. He doesn’t want to consider what they may have looked like before.

“They don’t smell like that, either,” Annette says.

“Not when they’re alive,” Ashe says.

What a terrible thought.

“Alright everyone, listen up.” Glenn’s voice cuts straight through the horror, a rare comfort that Felix realizes he’s been taking for granted. He opens his eyes and focuses on him. “They don’t look like much, but my reports say they’re strong. Don’t let your guard down.”

There’s a murmur of agreement through the group.

“We’re going to take care of the ones we can see,” he continues, “And then we’re going to go into those ruins and make sure there aren’t any more hiding out. Good?”

Felix looks back at the monsters and realizes with a jolt that another is crawling out of what looks to be a pile of rubble from which a dead tree had taken root at some point. Only the tree’s trunk and a few lower branches remain. Its bark is black, gnarled, twisted up its side and cut by a sharp white gash where one of the monsters must have torn into it.

“Is that safe?” he asks, eyeing the tree’s decaying roots.

“We’ll find out,” Glenn says.

“We will,” Byleth says, grim. “There’s no cover, so there’s no point sneaking up. Let’s just charge in and keep the pace under our control.”

He doesn’t wait for anyone’s agreement; Byleth raises his sword and races down the hill, straight toward the pack of beasts. Dimitri, Dedue, and Glenn follow immediately behind. The rest of them exchange glances and follow a bit more hesitantly.

The first monster spots them within moments and the fight begins. It screeches, high and cutting, and lumbers toward them, its movements clumsy and slow. Several more follow after it. Their enormous claws dig up dirt and mud and in no time at all the entire field is slick, wet, and terrible for fighting.

Glenn and Byleth step ahead of everyone else and ready themselves; Byleth with his whip sword and Glenn with his lance. The first beast opens its mouth and snaps down where Glenn had been standing moments prior and screams when Glenn, having slid underneath its body as it continued forward, pushes his blade up through its torso and pulls. 

The first beast disappears in smoke.

“They’re slow,” Glenn shouts, “Focus on outmaneuvering them!”

Another one zeroes in on Glenn and Byleth but Felix doesn’t have time to watch another fight; his own opponent rushes toward him, Annette, and Ashe. He rushes forward and swings. His sword barely grazes the beast. He curses. He swings again.

“Felix!” Annette shouts from behind him, “It has some kind of armor! Hang on —”

The beast’s claws rip toward him. He leaps back, narrowly avoiding it and a burst of fire magic from behind him. The beast roars, he swings, and this time his blade hits flesh. A volley of arrows follow and tear through the beast’s skin and muscle and it blows away, leaving behind only sparkling red dust floating in the wind.

He doesn’t have time to consider this. He’s no longer worried about whether he’s killing actual people or not. He slips into fighting mode where he feels comfortable, at home, and he runs forward to the next beast.

The fight is quick. Glenn and Byleth carve a path directly to the ruins and cut down the beasts climbing out to join the fight. Dimitri and Dedue follow shortly behind on either side, catching any that fork off, and Sylvain takes up the opposite wing from Felix alongside Mercedes and Ingrid. They all converge at the ruins in less than fifteen minutes and look down the crumbling stairs into the monster’s den.

“Why is this here?” Felix spits.

“Cheaper to leave it be than to dig it out,” Glenn says. “Come on, let’s go.”

The stairs are wide enough for them to descend grouped together. Magical fire floats around them, illuminating the dark, crumbling stairwell just enough to see which stairs are a little wet and which stairs are missing entirely.

“I don’t like this,” Annette says. “It doesn’t feel right.”

It doesn’t. Felix realizes with a jolt that he’s cold; goosebumps cover his arms underneath his armor and static prickles against the back of his neck. The cave smells like mildew and something smokey he can’t describe as anything other than terror. 

“There must be something else down here,” Byleth says from the front of the group, “Don’t let your guard down, keep your weapons ready.”

Felix thinks he hates stairs.

After an eternity of dread they finally reach a massive crumbling archway into a cavern about half as big as the mausoleum and twice as horrible. The floor and walls glitter with a foreboding red-to-black iridescence that casts just enough light to make out a mass in the middle that rises and falls with each breath.

“What is that..?” Sylvain breathes out, barely heard.

It’s bad. All Felix knows is it’s bad.

“Ashe,” Byleth hisses back to the group, “Can you hit it?”

Ashe fumbles an arrow from his quiver and docks it. He pulls it back. “Yeah,” he says in a shaky whisper, “Tell me when.”

Byleth doesn’t hesitate. “Now.”

Ashe’s arrow shoots true, cutting through the darkness and hitting the mass in a flash of deep red. It screams. Then it rises.

Standing on all fours in front of them, angry and tired, is a beast at least four times as large as the other ones they fought outside. It’s not haunted by the smell of decay; rather, its muscles ripple with every movement under thick, scaled skin. It blinks its eyes open and Felix hesitates; its eyes glow red, unlike the other beasts, and much like the knight in the mausoleum.

“Oh,” Felix says.

Annette grasps onto his arm. “Felix?”

He swallows. “What?”

“I don’t like this.”

He nods. “Me neither.”

The beast roars.

“This one must be creating the other beasts,” Glenn shouts, “If we kill it the rest should stop appearing!”

“I hope this one isn’t a person,” Sylvain mutters. Felix doesn’t linger on that.

Ashe shoots another arrow. This beast’s magical armor, though cracked, is significantly stronger than the smaller beasts from before. Ashe swears and readies another arrow. Annette throws another handful of fire. Byleth whips out his sword and finally shatters a section of its shield, leaving a gaping hole for Ashe’s arrow to fly through and into its muscle.

The beast roars and rushes forward, past Glenn’s lance bouncing off its armor, past Byleth’s sword carving another crack, and straight toward Felix.

He swings his sword easily, cutting through the air and shallowly piercing the beast’s scales. It doesn’t care. It snaps its jaws to his left. He leaps back, pushing Annette away as he moves, and when the beast pulls away he realizes it wasn’t aiming for him in the first place.

Sylvain holds his lance in a defensive position on the other side of the beast and he’s _furious._ He pushes his blade forward, into the beast’s armor again and again, breaking it apart before it can come down again. There’s shouting all around him. The hot breath of the beast blows his bangs back and leaves a disgusting wet heat in his nostrils. Annette’s fire magic shoots over his shoulder and against the beast’s exposed face and he follows with his own sword. The beast swivels toward him and opens its jaws —

_“Felix!”_

He’s pushed back and stumbles, barely regaining his footing against the uneven floor, just in time to see Sylvain swipe into the beast’s open mouth. Its teeth graze his arm. He shouts in pain. 

Something inside Felix snaps in a white hot fury. He joins Sylvain’s side and sinks his blade into the beast’s snout. It cries out. Someone yells behind him and another arrow lodges itself into the beast. Blood runs down the side of its face. Felix tries not to think about the blood running down Sylvain’s arm. 

_Mercedes can heal him,_ Felix assures himself.

Sylvain’s arm glows in a shining light and he swings his lance again at full strength. Felix follows. The beast falls forward, its jaw scraping across the ground, and Sylvain leaps into its space and buries his blade between the creature’s eyes.

This time when the beast dissolves into nothing it does so slowly. It first molts away its scales, then its muscles and organs, and finally its bones crumble to a shining dust. Felix covers his nose and mouth, fights for breath against the scratchy air, and as he settles into the fresh silence a few details become clear to him.

One, Sylvain is frozen. His eyes are wide; horrified.

Two, a glowing stone shines from the center of where the beast stood, casting the entire cavern in a harsh red light.

Three, the beast didn’t disappear. Not entirely, at least; next to the stone is the distinct shape of a human body lying motionless on the ground.

Sylvain steps forward first. Byleth follows from the other side of the cavern. Felix and Annette are shortly behind, and everybody else walks much slower, much more carefully through the remains of the beast.

“It’s…” Sylvain breathes.

“A person,” Felix finishes after he doesn’t continue.

“What the hell..?” Byleth says.

“That’s…” Glenn squints his eyes at the body, “Is that… Oh no, Sylvain, step back.”

“What?” Sylvain steps forward. “What is it?”

“I’m serious, Sylvain, step back.”

Felix grabs his arm and forcefully pulls him away. His mouth runs dry. He saw it, too.

“Seriously, what the hell —”

“Shut up,” Felix snaps.

Lying facedown in front of them, covered in dust and very, very dead, is a familiar burly figure with bright red hair. Sylvain’s red hair.

And underneath him is a lance, and set at the base of the blade of that lance is a small red stone that seems to beat in time with his heart.

“Oh,” Sylvain whispers. It’s small.

“I’m sorry,” Felix whispers back.

“He was — he was turned into a beast.”

Felix nods. “Yeah.”

The lance taunts him. Pulses at him, pulls him towards death. Promises Sylvain’s death. It’s the bloodstained weapon he saw in his dream, he’s _sure_ of it. The weapon Sylvain carried when he was slain in a past life. He grips Sylvain’s arm tighter.

“How did..?” Glenn doesn’t finish his question. He sighs. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That makes two of us,” Sylvain says in a weak attempt at humor. Glenn shoots him a look.

“Don’t give me that,” he snaps, “Shithead or not, he’s still your brother.”

Sylvain smiles, grim. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“Let’s get his body out of here,” Byleth says, “As for this, uh, _thing,_ we can bring it back to Headmaster Rhea.”

“Wait,” Felix says. He points. “Look.”

The rapid beat deep inside the stone slows steadily, and with it Miklan’s body wastes away into matching dust. They watch in silent horror and fascination as what’s left of his body falls to dust before their eyes and the stone slowly calms to a steady, low red. He’s gonna be sick.

Sylvain exhales. His breath shaky. "That takes care of that I guess," he says.

Felix doesn't pay him any mind. He doesn’t know why he does it. The magical lance lays in front of him — in front of everyone — and he’s pulled forward into its orbit like it’s the sun and he’s an incredibly stupid rock. He gets close enough to feel the dread, the fear, the loneliness held inside and he _can’t._ Someone say something. Someone tells him to stop. He doesn’t. He sees white and swings his sword down over the red stone, pulsing like a heartbeat in the center of the blade.

A high pitched scream echoes through the cave.

Maybe it’s a hologram, or maybe it’s some type of magic he’s never seen before, but somewhere deep inside Felix knows whatever he just released from that stone is _alive._ Shadows skyrocket every which way, flying straight through the walls and floors of the cave and through the bodies of his classmates and brother. An incredible shape, larger than the cave they stand in and impossibly ancient, spreads its wings through the stone and flies to freedom.

One last shadow, one he finds his eyes glued to, impossibly warm and gentle and _exactly_ the thing that pulled him to the stone on the first place, escapes the lance and Felix watches as it jets toward Sylvain and through — no, _into_ his chest, taking hold of his body and Felix would be choking if it weren’t for the sudden light of recognition behind his eyes.

Sylvain falls on his ass. Felix, who understands far more than he ever wanted to, sprints forward and falls to his knees. Someone else’s footsteps run to the fallen lance.

 _“Sylvain,”_ he pants. Even he can feel the tight tension in the air around them. He moves through it with ease and cradles Sylvain’s face in his hands. Staring back at him are the eyes in his dreams; the ones that could see through him, read everything about him, and love him for every rotten bit he is.

 _“Felix,”_ Sylvain breathes. He fists his hands in Felix’s collar and kisses him how he’s never been kissed before, like a dying man taking his first drink of water, like his body can’t contain his desperation and his longing.

Felix kisses him back.

Glenn screams, _“WAIT, WHAT THE FUCK?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. Finally. Oh my god I wrote this scene when I first started writing this fic so I’d have a goal sdlfkjsd. Anyway!
> 
> This wraps up part one our of four. Part two has a slightly lower chapter count but I have no idea how long each of those chapters will be so! We will see I guess!
> 
> As always thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	9. Crests

Meanwhile, back on campus.

Lysithea and Claude shuffle through stacks of paper, textbooks they’ve torn apart several times, and encyclopedias of myths and legends they dug out of both the university library as well as the smaller library in town. Neither of them have left Claude’s dorm since they started several days ago after Felix and Annette left on their hopefully uneventful mission, breaking only to eat and pee. The air is stale, warm, a little stinky, and their stacks of dirty plates and silverware rival the state of the room the first time Lysithea ever walked in.

“I really, really hope their mission is uneventful,” Claude says.

Lysithea nods. “Me, too.”

“But I don’t think it will be.”

Lysithea nods. “Me, too.”

There’s no way around it; what they’ve found fucking _sucks._ Laid out neatly on Felix’s bed, away from the rest of the disaster zone, are a handful of mission reports stating something called the Lance of Ruin was obtained from the thief Miklan Gautier, who was executed on sight. With a little more digging through birth records they’ve been able to find that, at least in their past lives, Miklan Gautier was Sylvain’s older brother, and that the Lance of Ruin was a powerful weapon that belonged to the Gautier family. What’s particularly interesting, though, was a statement from old Sylvain Gautier.

 _“My brother was a casualty of the outdated crest system,”_ he had said, according to news clippings from the era, _“This weapon, this hero’s relic, the Lance of Ruin, took his life and body and twisted it into the form of a demonic beast. You all deserve to know this; you deserve the truth. From this day forward the Lance of Ruin will be used only to forge peace, and as nobody will be born bearing the Gautier crest, it will die with me.”_

“We still don’t know what the hell crests even are,” Lysithea says. They’re mentioned, even explained in some legends, but nothing quite adds up.

“Nope,” Claude says.

“They were inherited, does it have to do with blood?” she mutters to herself for the thousandth time, “Genetics? Magic? I don’t understand.”

“No idea,” Claude says.

In truth, they’re no further along than they were before. They know a little more, but they don’t know what they’re expected to do with that knowledge, nor do they know if it’s even important. Lysithea _hopes_ it isn’t important. As offputting as Sylvain is, she can’t imagine living with the knowledge of his brother’s fate.

“I really wish we had more to go off of,” Claude says. He throws down the book he was holding and rubs his temples. “We’re working in circles, and whoever’s pulling the strings already knows everything.”

Lysithea groans. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” he says, voice grim, “We can’t ignore it.”

She sighs, long and suffering. “When are they getting back? We need Felix’s bad attitude.”

Claude snorts. “Soon, I hope.”

“Good. I can’t handle this for much longer —”

It’s at that moment that the door bursts open and Felix, Annette, and Sylvain all barrel in together and slam the door shut behind them. Lysithea looks between the three; Annette’s having a panic attack, Felix looks like he’s about to puke, and Sylvain looks like he’s seen everything in the entire universe. She turns her head and looks at Claude, who’s taking his time appraising them.

“Wow, we were just talking about you,” he says dryly, “I take it your mission wasn’t uneventful?”

“A lot happened,” Felix says.

“I can see that,” Claude says.

“They don’t even _care,”_ Annette says, “He turned into a monster and they just _don’t care.”_

“Who?” Lysithea asks, “Who doesn’t care?”

“Headmaster Rhea,” Felix says.

“To be fair,” Sylvain says, snapping both Lysithea and Claude’s attention to him, “She cared that you destroyed the Lance of Ruin.”

“Wait, _what?!”_ Lysithea shouts. She scoots over the floor to Felix’s bed and snatches the mission report up and waves it around, “Like, this Lance of Ruin? _This one?!”_

Something dark crosses Sylvain’s face. “Let me see that.”

She passes the paper over without even thinking and Sylvain takes it, bringing it close to his face as his eyes fly over the page. He scowls and hands it back.

“Typical,” he mutters, “I never actually saw that report, but it’s just fucking typical.”

“Say, Sylvain,” Claude says, interrupting his weird stream of consciousness, “Why are you acting weird?”

Sylvain freezes. Behind him Annette pales and Felix flushes bright red. 

“Uh, funny story,” Sylvain begins, but he’s cut off by Felix.

“I didn’t actually break the lance, I broke the stone,” he says. Lysithea’s thoughts race to catch up; the stone?

“Like on Catherine’s sword? The one you described from before?” Claude asks. Felix nods.

“Yeah, that one.”

The memory of Catherine standing over the bodies of fallen soldiers, holding her sword in preparation to strike Byleth, demanding access to Ashe’s father’s body flashes through her mind, all punctuated by the strange red glow coming from the pomme. A chill runs through her entire body.

“Okay, so you broke the stone and not the lance,” Claude says, slow, “That means something?”

Felix swallows. “Yeah.”

“What —”

“Bad news,” Annette says, cutting Claude off, “Something connected to Sylvain was trapped and Felix let it out.”

“Yeah, _something,”_ Sylvain says, “Just my entire _soul._ You know, nothing important.”

“Your, wait, your _what?”_ Lysithea asks.

“Sylvain knows everything,” Felix forces out. Lysithea thinks of his weird love dreams and suddenly his blush makes a lot of sense.

“I don’t know everything,” Sylvain corrects, “But I do, uh, remember my entire past life.”

There’s a pause, a frozen silence while Lysithea and Claude try to figure out how to respond to that enormous confession. They look at one another, and then back at Sylvain.

“What?” Claude asks elegantly.

“So, last thing I remember from uh, before, is getting stabbed and trying to stab the asshole back.” Sylvain’s tone is comically flippant. “Given, you know, _all this,_ I think it’s pretty safe to say the lance sucked my soul out of my body.”

Claude is uncharacteristically quiet. Felix is uncharacteristically panicked. Annette is also panicked, but that’s characteristic. Lysithea isn’t even surprised anymore.

“So, okay,” Lysithea says, “Let’s assume everything you just said is right. Are there two souls in your body now?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Don’t think so.”

“So there’s one soul in your body.

Sylvain shrugs again. “I think so.”

Lysithea takes a moment to line up her next words properly. “And this doesn’t _bother_ you?!”

He shrugs _again._ Lysithea considers strangling him. “I guess it’s kinda gross? Like, if I’m walking around without a soul, is it just a body? Was I a zombie — okay, I see your point.” Sylvain scratches his chin and continues, “Hm.”

“Who, uh,” Annette laughs nervously. Lysithea gets the feeling she didn’t think too hard about that part yet. “Who else is, uh, you know…”

“A zombie?” Claude supplies helpfully.

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Annette says.

“I don’t know,” Sylvain says, “I was the first to die so I don’t know who all died with their relics, assuming that’s all you need.”

“I’ve decided that, for the sake of solving problems, I’m going to pretend that’s not incredibly depressing,” Claude says. “Sylvain, how much do you remember?”

“Ah, that’s the thing,” he says, “It’s not exactly that, uh, I _remember_ everything, per se, it’s more like… It’s like I woke up from a nap, and everything from before happened before that nap, but so did everything in this life.”

“Sylvain,” Lysithea says, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, I get it,” Claude says.

“What don’t you get?” Sylvain asks. Lysithea gets the impression he’d try and explain all day. She doesn’t want to listen to him talk that long.

“It’s like he’s both,” Claude tells her, “Or, rather, old Sylvain and now Sylvain are both him.”

Lysithea’s gonna get a headache if she thinks about this much longer.

“Let’s just move on,” Claude says. She nods. “So, Sylvain, how many of these, uh, relics are there?”

“Uh, hm.” Sylvain looks at the ceiling while he thinks. “Man, this is so weird. I know a lot about you guys.”

Lysithea blinks. “Do I _want_ to know?”

His eyes snap to her. “I don’t think so,” he says.

She doesn’t like that.

“Oh! I know!” Claude claps his hands together and grins, “Let’s break the ice before getting into the depressing stuff. Sylvain, tell us all about us!”

“What? Like how you have the same facial hair?”

Claude smirks and runs a finger through his beard. “I’m thrilled to hear this.”

“Well great news, buddy, you have the same facial hair,” Sylvain says with a wide grin.

“And how about Lysithea’s lovely hair? Is it just as silver as you remember?” Claude asks.

“Just as silver and just as lovely,” Sylvain confirms.

“Well, what else?” Claude asks. “Did Annette get married?”

Sylvain’s grin tightens. Annette looks murderous. “Uh,” Sylvain says, “Yeah..?”

“Who? Anyone we know?”

Annette darts to Felix’s bed and throws a pillow at Claude as hard as she can. “Shut up!”

“If he asks anything else about me,” Lysithea says, “Don’t answer.”

Sylvain nods. “Got it.”

“This is stupid,” Felix mutters. Sylvain throws an arm over his shoulder and Lysithea watches in shock as Felix doesn’t try to shrug him off.

“You’re only saying that because _you_ already _knew_ we were married,” Sylvain says, his voice dripping with disgusting affection. Lysithea cringes back.

“Have they been like this the entire time?” Lysithea asks Annette. She sighs.

“Off and on,” she says, “Mostly we’ve all just kind of been in shock.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Felix mutters.

“Anyway,” Lysithea says, tearing her eyes away from _all that,_ “Let’s get back on topic.”

“Right!” Claude says. “So, Sylvain..?”

“You asked about the relics,” Sylvain says.

“I did,” Claude confirms.

“I don’t actually know how many there are,” he says, “There’s a lot.”

“A lot, you say?” Claude writes something down on a stray sheet of paper. “Like… how many is a lot?”

“Well,” Sylvain glances around the room, “Everyone here had one.”

Lysithea chokes.

 _“What?!”_ Annette shrieks, “Am I — are we — oh no…”

“But I got the dreams or the visions or whatever,” Felix points out. Claude writes another note. “And you didn’t.”

“Right,” Sylvain says.

“So the relic existing isn’t enough,” Claude says, “Hm. Maybe you need to be holding it? Or maybe you need to die violently? Felix, how did you die?”

Felix scowls. “Fuck if I know.”

“You never liked the shield,” Sylvain says, “Said it should’ve stayed with your father.”

“That sounds like him,” Annette says.

“Fascinating,” Claude mutters.

“You gave yours to Dimitri when you left,” Sylvain says to Claude, who raises his brows in a silent question. “Said you had stuff to take care of. I thought his majesty was about to have a heart attack when you popped over as the king of Almyra.”

This startles a laugh out of Claude. “I didn’t _tell_ him?!”

“Nope!” Sylvain laughs as well, “You kept your secrets close.”

“Shit,” Claude says, “Good for me.”

“Let’s stay focused,” Lysithea cuts in, “So Felix is, uh, Felix has his soul. Claude gave up his relic, so he probably has his soul. What about..?” _Me,_ she doesn’t ask.

“Right,” Sylvain says, “I mean, I don’t actually _know._ But I’d be surprised if you kept Thyrsus instead of giving it up to Lorenz after the war.”

A flash of purple and a haughty laugh fill her mind. _“Lorenz?!”_

“Yeah, you had the same crest,” Sylvain says like he didn’t just rock her world. Lysithea opens her mouth to respond but Claude gets there first.

“Right, crest,” he says, “What the hell is a crest? I keep seeing them referenced but there’s no explanation.”

Sylvain hesitates. “I forgot nobody knows about those,” he says, finally, “They’re, uh. How do I even begin?”

“This book says they’re a gift from the goddess,” Claude says, “But that can’t be —”

“A curse, more like,” Sylvain says, his expression dark. Claude’s mouth snaps shut. “Dimitri was supposed to dismantle the entire system so society wasn’t built all around them. Maybe he did, I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

Everybody’s silent. Even the sound of Claude’s pen scribbling across paper is gone. Sylvain sits in thought. 

“So what _are_ they?” Lysithea asks after a stretch. He shrugs.

“Dunno,” Sylvain says. Claude’s pen resumes its scratching. “They allow you to carry a matching relic. Sometimes they’ll make you stronger. Most families that had one stayed in power forever, though Mercedes had one and her family fell.”

“Oh,” Annette says as her face falls, “She can’t catch a break, huh?”

Sylvain bites his lip. “Now that I think about it,” he says, “Everybody’s history is pretty much the same. That’s weird, right?”

“Is it?” Annette asks.

“Well, your dad was alive but he wasn’t around,” Sylvain says, “Lysithea had health problems. I guess Felix is pretty different; I mean, Glenn’s alive —”

Felix coughs.

“Yeah, let’s not talk about that.” Sylvain shakes his head. “I dunno. It’s weird.”

“It _is_ weird,” Claude says. He folds up his notes and tosses them onto another pile of notes before grabbing a fresh sheet of paper. “So everyone with a crest had a relic?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“But sometimes, like with Lysithea, more than one person had a single crest and there was only one relic?”

Sylvain nods.

“Was there anybody else like that?”

Sylvain thinks for a moment before replying. “Linhardt and Flayn had the same crest,” he says.

“Flayn — that’s Seteth’s sister’s name, right?” Annette asks.

“Yeah,” Sylvain says, “They both had Cethleann’s crest.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me,” Lysithea says.

“It had something to do with healing magic,” he says, “Couldn’t tell you much else. They both had green hair?”

“Green hair, got it,” Claude says, “What else?”

Sylvain’s quiet. Felix elbows him lightly.

“Spit it out,” he says.

“Sorry,” Sylvain says, “It’s hard to think right now. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Okay, we can come back to this later,” Claude says. He takes a deep breath and continues, “I have one more really important question, though. According to these reports, the next thing we need to worry about is a plague in a place called Remire? It’s not on any maps —”

“We _can’t_ let that happen,” Sylvain snaps, his voice suddenly sharp and urgent. He’s pale, his hands have curled into shaking fists. “That — that can’t happen. Not again.”

Lysithea turns to Claude, who’s taking this all in. “We need to know what to do,” he says, “We’ll stop it if we can, but —”

“Tomas,” Sylvain nearly shouts, “It was some guy disguised as Tomas. If we kill him —”

 _“Whoa,_ whoa, if we _kill_ him?” Claude asks, shocked, “We can’t just kill an old librarian, Sylvain, what if it’s not him?”

“You have to understand,” Sylvain’s words pick up speed and he’s nearly stumbling over his own words, “It was — they cursed the town, everybody there was possessed, killing each other, it — you weren’t there, even back then you weren’t there, but you have to trust me.”

“I do,” Claude says, quiet, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe it’s time to bring in Professor Byleth,” Annette says, “Maybe he’ll have an idea.”

Sylvain laughs and it’s a dead, hollow thing. “Professor Byleth didn’t know what was going on then and it doesn’t look like either of them know what’s going on now,” he says, “There’s no point.”

“But —”

“Look,” he cuts Annette off, “Professor Byleth and Seteth got married a few years after the war. If we bring one of them on then Seteth will know, and if Seteth already knows…”

His unsaid accusation hangs in the air around them, recalling an image of the doctored photo of Headmaster Rhea as well as her close relationship with Seteth. 

“What was up with Headmaster Rhea?” Claude asks.

Sylvain shakes his head. _“Archbishop_ Rhea was stripped of her power and fucked off to who knows where,” he says, “Whoever let her back in power was out of their mind.”

Claude writes this down and says, “Alright, well, that’s it, I guess. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

Sylvain sighs and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d better do that.”

Sylvain leaves for his own dorm to sleep in his own bed. Once the door is shut and they can no longer hear his footsteps fading down the hall, Claude speaks.

“We need to have another meeting,” he says, “Like, yesterday.”

They all nod and agree on the following evening. They’ll round everyone up and share what they’ve learned, regardless of how much they believed before. Ingrid, their most skeptical friend, saw Sylvain’s transformation for herself; even she can’t deny something’s up.

* * *

Lysithea’s thoughts race and she sprints after them, reaching out to grasp at the edges that remain just out of reach until she’s exhausted and can’t move any further. She drags herself to her bed for an uneasy night of sleep and violent dreams, and when the first rays of sun peek over the horizon she climbs down from her loft bed, pulls her knee braces on under her pajama pants, and marches off campus to the apartment Dimitri shares with El.

> _I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. -Lysithea_

She shoves her letter underneath the door and heads to the dining hall for breakfast. She hasn’t even finished eating her pancakes when El slides into the seat across from her.

“What is it?” she asks.

Lysithea’s struck by just how _tired_ El looks; dark circles underneath her eyes make her look gaunt, skull-like, like she hasn’t had a full night of sleep in weeks. Her long silver hair, much like Lysithea’s own, has been thrown into a messy ponytail at the top of her head. Lysithea realizes this is the first time she’s seen El wearing sweatpants outside her own apartment.

“Are you okay?” Lysithea asks.

“I’m fine,” El says, her face not any less concerned, “Are _you?”_

Lysithea glances over her shoulder and, after ensuring they’re alone she says, “I need to tell you something. Privately. You can’t tell anybody else.”

El’s eyes narrow. “Lysithea, _are you okay?”_

“I don’t know,” she admits.

“What is it?” she asks. Despite being taller than her Lysithea finds herself feeling incredibly small under her cutting gaze. “Did somebody hurt you? Do you need help?”

“Just slow down,” Lysithea says, “Hang on, let’s go back to my dorm, Bernadetta should be in class.”

El insists on bringing her tray to the counter for her; an entirely unnecessary gesture, but El has made it clear that Lysithea needs to accept help when it’s offered, so she lets her. When she’s returned she tugs El’s hand to follow and within minutes they’re in Lysithea’s empty room behind a locked door and El pulls her into a crushing hug.

“You’re suffocating me,” Lysithea forces out. El chuckles quietly and pulls back.

“My apologies,” she says with a soft smile, one she doesn’t show in public. “It’s just been so long. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”

Lysithea can’t help but smile as well. “Yeah,” she says, “I’ve missed you.”

She ushers Lysithea into the chair underneath her desk and takes a seat on the giant purple fur beanbag on the floor next to her and asks, her voice serious, “So what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Lysithea looks at her _again._ She still sees the eye bags, still sees the sweatpants, still sees a concerned friend. She doesn’t see much else. She sighs.

“Something’s going on with Headmaster Rhea and Seteth and the Byleths,” she says, jumping in with no preamble, “But I don’t know what it is and I don’t know what to do.”

There’s a pause. “Where did you hear this?” El asks, her words slow.

“I —” Lysithea looks at her desk and back to El, “Um, I found a website, and after looking into it more there’s something going on, I’m sure of it.”

El hums. She looks deep in thought, distant, like she’s in another world entirely. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Lysithea admits, “I’m trying to figure it out — _we’re_ trying to figure it out, myself and Annette, Felix, Claude, and Linhardt when he shows up.”

She furrows her brows together. “And you found this on a website?”

“Yeah,” Lysithea says.

El considers her words, her eyes dart around the room as she thinks and finally rest on her own hands. When she finally speaks, she does so slowly and carefully. “You shouldn’t trust Headmaster Rhea or Seteth,” she says. Lysithea’s blood runs cold. “And you should question everything you see, and everything you read.”

Lysithea swallows. “Can you explain more?”

Her hands clench into fists. “No,” El says, “There’s… I’m sorry, Lysithea, there’s some things I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

There’s a lot of things Lysithea could say. _But I told you,_ or _What’s going on?,_ or _Are you okay?_

Instead she says, “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” El says, and it sounds like she means it. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything when I can. Okay?”

Lysithea doesn’t know what to say to that. No, it’s not really okay, but what can she do about it?

“We’re having another meeting tonight,” Lysithea says instead of arguing, “You should come.”

El smiles apologetically. “I can’t,” she says, voice soft, “I have something important to take care of. Will you catch me up later?”

Lysithea feels her entire body deflate. “Yeah,” she says, “I’ll take notes.”

El takes a deep breath and unclenches her fists before reaching out and taking one of Lysithea’s hands in her own. “I’ll try to make it to the next one,” she assures her, “And I’ll ask Hubert to go. Is that okay?”

She bites her lip and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”

* * *

That night, in the meeting room for the Blue Lions, in front of everyone whose name Claude has found in his research save for Edelgard, Claude and Sylvain explain what they know. Lysithea isn’t really paying attention to everyone’s reactions, though she can hear their shocked gasps at points; no, she’s paying attention to Hubert, standing at the back of the room looking just as sour as he always does.

Someone says something Lysithea doesn’t quite hear and Hubert crinkles his nose. Lysithea tunes into the conversation.

“I just think we should ask them,” Ignatz says, “Maybe it looks worse than it is.”

“We _can’t,”_ Annette pleads, “They’re _in on it!”_

“We can speak with Professor Byleth, then,” Dimitri says, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, “He already knows about Sylvain. You don’t believe _he’s_ in on it.”

“No, but he could be,” Claude says, “And so could other Professor Byleth. We don’t actually know.”

"What about his father, then?" Dimitri suggests, "Captain Jeralt doesn't trust Headmaster Rhea."

"You want to tell Professor Byleth's _dad?!"_ Claude asks, incredulous.

“What’s the worst that happens if we bring in Headmaster Rhea and Seteth?” Dorothea interrupts, “Because the worst that happens if we _don’t_ is a lot of people die.”

“I don’t know,” Claude says, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I don’t trust them,” Lysithea says after tearing her gaze away from Hubert, “They’re up to something. They clearly have something to gain from all this.”

“What in the _world_ could they have to gain?!” Dorothea asks.

“Headmaster Rhea was in complete control of the continent,” Claude says, “She has everything to gain.”

“And we have everything to lose!” Ignatz cries.

Lysithea glances back at Hubert. He’s back to looking sour.

“I know,” Claude says, “But —”

A few things happen at once.

One, the door to the meeting room slams open with a crash. Everybody jumps and turns to see both Professors Byleth looking absolutely panicked, flanked by three people Lysithea has never seen before.

Two, Hubert disappears. Into the shadows, through the door, she’s not sure, but wherever he went he’s no longer in the room.

Three, lightning cracks across the sky followed immediately by deafening thunder. There wasn’t a storm when the meeting started. In fact, Lysithea remembers the sky being perfectly clear and the night air being perfectly crisp.

“Teach,” Claude greets. Lysithea snaps her eyes to him. He’s visibly jarred. “Is everything okay?”

“Why are all of you here?” Professor Byleth snaps. Lysithea realizes she’s never seen him this emotional. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“We were having a meeting,” Annette explains.

“A meeting about what?!” other Professor Byleth asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lysithea says, “What’s going on?”

“We have to go,” Professor Byleth says. His voice projects an air of finality. _“Now.”_

“Get your things,” other Professor Byleth says, “Get your weapons, get any provisions. There’s an emergency. It’s actually quite convenient you’re all right here, we thought we’d only be able to find a handful of you.”

One of the strangers at their side steps through the door and into the dim light of the room. She looks to be around Lysithea’s age, though she holds herself with the confidence of someone much, much older. Her hair, pale and green, falls around her face and down her back in thick, long curls, and her voice is soft when she speaks. “It is imperative that we leave immediately,” she says, “I understand you are confused. There is no time to explain.”

“Okay,” Sylvain says. Lysithea swivels to look at him. His face is set in steel, determined and prepared. “Let’s go. Whatever’s going on, we’ll help.”

“Thank you,” Professor Byleth says, “I’ve already enlisted my father, Flayn and Cyril, but we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i missed last week!! a lot happened 
> 
> thank yall so so sooo much for your comments on the last chapter!! it was really nice to see everyone's reactions, especially after I put so much work into it!! 
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)
> 
> **EDIT 6/16/2020: I’m putting rerun on an indefinite hiatus. I haven’t been able to write to the level of quality I want to see from myself and every time I look at the doc my entire brain turns off 8( 
> 
> Hopefully after I play with some other short projects and finish ongoing commitments I’ll feel better and be able to commit the focus I want


	10. Remire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of people die. The Flame Emperor has a deal. Sylvain knows what's up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some changes: I’ve shifted the major focus on setleth and edeleth to be more background, though those ships are still important to the story, and I’ve decided to add lysinette as a major relationship. Idk about yall but to me their chemistry just kind of exploded
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include graphic depictions of violence. Spoilers for chapter 8 of three houses.

Things move really, really fast.

Annette gets caught up in the crowd of students racing through the door, running to get their things, all while Professor Byleth One, as she’s taken to calling him, shouts instructions to meet back here in fifteen minutes. Ingrid runs ahead. By the time Annette gets to their dorm, Ingrid’s running back with her lance and armor in hand. 

Annette is one of the last to return, with Lysithea following close behind. Everybody’s standing in the quad. Professor Byleth One is silently counting the students and the young woman with green curls who she assumes is Flayn is doing something on the ground. Captain Jeralt, who she’s only seen once before, stands back with his arms crossed. The third stranger Professor Byleth One referred to as _Cyril_ stands to the side looking entirely out of place.

“Care to explain while we wait?” Claude asks. He’s standing near Captain Jeralt and wearing a mask of casual ease, but Annette recognizes his wide stance. He’s prepared for anything.

“There’s been reports of an attack,” Professor Byleth Two says, “Or an illness, or something. My father received the news from his scouts. We cannot wait for the knights. We’ll be warping to the location and doing what we can to save anyone still alive.”

Annette swallows. _“S-still_ alive?”

Professor Byleth Two’s face is dark, serious. “Yeah,” she says, quiet. “Still alive.”

Annette doesn’t have time for this to sink in. Flayn yells _now!_ and the ground underneath her feet lights up, magic erupts from an enormous spell circle scrawled across the ground. Her body floats in the air — or maybe the ground fades away, she doesn’t know — and there’s the bright white of nothingness. She screams. Nothing comes out.

And then, when her feet hit the ground again, it’s like she never panicked at all.

Then she starts panicking again.

She thinks she might be dead, along with everyone else around her. This certainly _seems_ like hell. The Byleths, Captain Jeralt, and Flayn leap into action with no hesitation and shout instructions to take down any hostile people; they shout that they’re no longer human. _They’re no longer human._

It’s hot. _So_ hot. Flames roar to her right and she hears a scream. Ingrid, brave, fearless Ingrid, leaps through the wall of flame and she hears a _squelch,_ a fall, and she sees the screaming person scramble away from around the fire and she sees him disappear in a flash of light.

“Annette,” Lysithea says, jerking her out of her spiral with a firm hand on her arm, “You need to _move._ Flayn told Linhardt and I to warp everyone we can back to the monastery. You can’t warp. You need to fight.”

Her feet are frozen to the ground. “Wh-what?”

_“Go!”_

Lysithea pushes her forward. Her feet take her the rest of the way. She’s hyperventilating, she knows, but she can’t get herself under control while the stench of burning and blood dominate her senses. Someone sprints in front of her, pulls their hands back like they’re ready to claw at her face. She sees their whitened eyes and doesn’t even think before she blows up the ground beneath them. She hears their body land. She doesn’t turn to look. There’s a flash of light to her left. She hopes it was a warp.

“Stay sharp, kid!” Captain Jeralt appears out of nowhere on his enormous white horse. He’s focused, calm. She wishes she could be like that. “You shouldn’t be alone out here. Stick close with me.”

She does. She sprints to his right and shoots wind magic at the creatures approaching him and he finishes them off with a swing of his lance. When they run they look like monsters. They sound like monsters and smell like monsters. Motionless on the ground they look like people. Captain Jeralt’s lip curls. He must see what she sees.

Her world on the battlefield is narrow, saturated, she hears everything all at once and she can’t pinpoint sound. Screaming presses in all around her. Classmates shouting instructions, innocent people begging for help. Jeralt loops around her and holds out a hand. She takes it. He pulls her behind him and onto his saddle. There’s not a lot of space; the leather digs into her ass and her legs bounce freely without stirrups, but she holds tight with one hand and directs her fiery magic with the other.

Maybe it’s a moment, or maybe it’s a lifetime later, but she sees less of those monsters and more of her classmates. Lorenz’s face is spattered with blood, but his expression is resolute. Hapi expresses more emotion than Annette’s ever seen from her. Dorothea’s crying. She realizes she’s crying, as well.

“There!” Dorothea points and shouts. Annette snaps out of her daze and looks. Captain Jeralt’s already riding in that direction.

In the middle of the destruction, standing amidst the roaring flames in a pile of rubble, is a man who could be straight out of a cartoon. His skin is pure white, his enormous veiny forehead reflects the sun’s rays and nearly blinds her, leaving her blinking the afterimage of his face out of her eyes while she tries to take in more. She thinks she sees Professor Byleth Two swing her sword down but she could be mistaken. She thinks she _is_ mistaken because he stands with his arms wide, unaffected, laughing in her face and the faces of everyone around converging in on him.

“It’s gonna be okay, kid,” Captain Jeralt tells her. She swallows. He rides straight forward. She readies a spell. He readies his lance.

They attack at once.

His body flickers. They run straight through him.

“What the —”

Captain Jeralt doesn’t finish; a very real, very solid blade buries itself in his shoulder just to the left of Annette’s head. She shrieks. He curses.

“We’ve spent centuries perfecting this technology,” Mister Scary Forehead shouts in a sharp, chilling voice, “Do you like it?”

Captain Jeralt indicates for his horse to turn around. Annette scrambles to get her hand over the wound, to slowly pull the blade out while healing the flesh and muscle within. There’s so much blood on her hands. She can’t stitch it all together.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs as they leap through Mister Scary Forehead again, “I’m so sorry. I’m no good at this. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, kid, what did I say?” Captain Jeralt is so calm. So level. “It’s gonna be okay. You got my back and I got yours. We’re a team today.”

She nods even though he can’t see her.

They turn and leap once more. This time Annette has enough time to prepare; she throws out the strongest blade of wind she can. It cuts through his body and absolutely nothing happens.

She hears Dimitri shout and suddenly he’s running through the man as well; Professor Byleth One follows, and shortly after Balthus throws down a fist. More of them are coming. Magic sparks in the air, leaving her hair on end. Arrows land around his body and stick out of his feet. When he decides to fight back it’s to prove he _can,_ and blades end up embedded between the plates of Sylvain’s armor and litter the ground at Claude’s feet, far out of the center of the action.

And then, in a blink, it’s over.

He thrusts out another blade at the same time as Professor Byleth Two whips out her sword. It makes purchase on his arm at precisely the right moment. He screams, piercing and shrill. Then there’s a flash of light, and he’s gone.

Just like that.

Annette swivels her head around. Looks for him here, anywhere. She only sees her classmates, the strangers Professors Byleth brought with, and Captain Jeralt, whose back is covered in blood. She hiccups. She realizes she’s been crying.

“I don’t like this,” Captain Jeralt mutters. “Byleth! What was that!”

Professor Byleth Two shakes her head. “Some strange magic,” she says, “I don’t know.”

“Is he gone?” Claude asks, voice shaking.

“I think so,” Professor Byleth Two says.

There’s a light touch on Annette’s left knee. She jumps and looks down. Lysithea is frowning up at her from the ground.

“You look awful,” Lysithea says. She holds her hand out. “Come on, get down here.”

Annette takes Lysithea’s hand and falls gracelessly to the ground. She grimaces at the sharp points of electricity that shoot up her legs at the impact. Captain Jeralt dismounts and stands behind her. She sees Mercie approach and say something to him that she can’t hear.

“Is anybody hurt?” Professor Byleth One asks. Annette shakes her head. He nods at each of them in turn and speaks to Dimitri. “Okay. Let’s look for any information we can find, and —”

Professor Byleth One stops mid-sentence and his eyes widen in shock. Dimitri’s face turns murderous. He snarls and his grip around his lance tightens. Annette turns to see what they’re looking at.

Walking toward them, calm and even, confident as ever, is the Flame Emperor. And again, Annette’s frozen. Helpless. 

“You,” they say, gesturing toward Byleth. Their robes swing with the movement of their arm. “I must speak with you.”

Professor Byleth One glances toward Professor Byleth Two; her brows are drawn together, focused and intent on the Flame Emperor. 

“What —” he begins.

_“YOU STAGED THIS!”_ Dimitri shouts. Annette stumbles into Lysithea’s side; Lysithea wraps an arm over her waist and holds her steady. _“YOU SICK, TWISTED_ —”

“I had nothing to do with this,” the Flame Emperor says, “Though I do apologize that it happened, this was not my doing.”

_“YOU_ —”

Professor Byleth One thrusts an arm out in front of Dimitri. Dimitri startles and seems to come back to himself. He’s silent.

“What do you want?” Professor Byleth One asks. It’s unfair how calm this entire family is.

“Work with me,” the Flame Emperor says. “We could forge a new path for the future, we could save it from certain ruin. But only if we work together.”

Nobody speaks. The Flame Emperor waits, patient, as their words sink in amidst the destruction and the stench of burning flesh. It’s hard to take their words as truth with dead bodies spread across the ground.

_“You have something to do with the prophecy, don’t you?!”_ Dimitri shouts. Professor Byleth One shoots him a look. He continues. _“That was your doing!”_

“What prophecy?” Professor Byleth One asks.

She can feel, rather than see, Claude’s look of deep disappointment and exasperation.

“Oh, dear,” Mercie says.

“I can explain everything,” the Flame Emperor says over Dimitri’s incoherent yelling. They walk forward smoothly, like they’re gliding over the ground. Professor Byleth One rests one hand on his sword and continues holding Dimitri back with the other.

Then, when the Flame Emperor is directly in front of him, he hands Professor Byleth One something Annette can’t see.

“Is this a business card?” Professor Byleth one asks, nonplussed. Somebody snorts.

“Yes,” says the Flame Emperor, as if handing someone your business card in the middle of the smoldering remains of a slaughter is completely normal. “As I said, I can explain everything. Answer any of your questions. I can —”

And then, because the day can get worse somehow, there’s a shout and a gurgle directly behind Annette and Lysithea. They both turn at once. Annette screams. Mercie looks horrified.

Captain Jeralt stumbles and Mercie catches him, eases him to the ground. His face is screwed up in pain. Sticking out of the already bloody spot on his shoulder, the spot Annette healed in the heat of battle, is a large wooden handle. Before she can even take in the laughing girl with orange hair much like her own an arrow lodges itself into her temple and she falls. 

His murderer dies before Captain Jeralt doesn’t. Not yet.

Both Professors Byleth are on either side. Mercie falls to her knees next to Captain Jeralt, her hands move quick and white magic glows from where the blade entered his body. Flayn, with tear tracks cutting through the blood spattered over her face, falls to her knees behind Captain Jeralt and adds her own healing magic. And still his breathing slows, chokes off. The Professors sob, hold onto his arms, beg him to stay. Annette falls to her knees.

_If I’d done better,_ she thinks to herself, the words echoing in her mind, _I could’ve saved him._

She doesn’t hear Captain Jeralt’s last words before he falls unconscious. She doesn’t hear what Professor Byleth One shouts as he leaps to his feet and whips his sword out at the Flame Emperor, who warps away long before the blade meets their body. 

However, she _does_ hear, with startling clarity, what Professor Byleth Two says.

“The Flame Emperor wouldn’t do this,” she says, quiet at first before her voice regains its strength. “They wouldn’t do this. This wasn’t them.”

“How can you _possibly_ say that?!” Professor Byleth One shouts back. Any pretense of calm has dissolved, his face is pure fury. “They distracted us, they tried to _kill_ him!”

“No! I —” she chokes on her own words. Tears run down her swollen, pink face as she tries to force the words out. She stands. “I’ll get answers. I promise, Byleth, I’ll get answers.”

Byleth roars. _“ARE YOU WORKING WITH THEM?!”_

And then she’s gone. In a flash of light, Professor Byleth Two is gone.

* * *

Annette feels a lot of things while she’s on her knees in the mud, waiting for Flayn to draw a transport sigil on the ground around them so they don’t have to drag Captain Jeralt’s unconscious, broken body.

One, she feels stupid. Like, really, _really_ stupid. She knew people could get hurt. She knew this wasn’t some cute game. So why is she shocked? Why didn’t she do more to prevent this?

Two, she feels gross. She’s covered in mud and gore and tears. Mercie tries to hug her again but she can’t stand to be touched right now.

Three, she feels despair. Even with their knowledge, with their warning of this _plague_ or whatever they’re going to call it, they weren’t able to prevent this. Captain Jeralt is barely alive, his breathing shallow and heartbeat barely present. Annette only met him today and she knows he would’ve taken that blade for her if she was the target. She wishes she could say she would’ve taken the blade for him but, well…

She never said she was a good person.

Not like Cyril, the boy she’d never even met before a few hours ago who jumped straight into the fray and defended students he doesn’t know. Not like Mercie, her long-time friend who fell to her knees into the mud to save a stranger. 

Instead, Annette rode into battle on the back of a man who’s exemplified by selfless bravery. She doesn’t know how she could have possibly expected to save the world like this. 

When Flayn warps them to the front gate of Garreg Mach they’re met by Edelgard running up to them. Dimitri speaks with her. Claude watches on skeptically. Annette doesn’t listen. 

Professor Byleth Two isn’t there.

“Annette,” Lysithea hisses. Annette blinks and turns to her. “Sylvain’s gesturing for us to follow him. Let’s go.”

Annette hardly registers the movement as Lysithea pushes her along, out of the crowd and toward Sylvain at the edge of the market. Claude and Felix follow. Once they’re a safe distance away Sylvain clears his throat and speaks quietly.

“Look,” he says. Annette has to lean in to hear. “This is bad.”

“No shit,” Felix says.

“No, like, this is _really_ bad.” Sylvain runs a hand through his frosted-tipped hair. “She — Edelgard was the Flame Emperor. You know, before.”

There’s silence as this sinks in. Claude looks a mix between smug and horrified. Lysithea looks like she’s about to cry. Annette isn’t sure what she feels.

“Okay,” Felix says, “Let’s tell everyone.”

_“No!”_ Sylvain shouts. He covers his face with his hands and takes a deep breath before he continues. “No, we can’t.”

_“Why?!”_

“You need to understand,” Sylvain says. He looks between the three of them, his eyes serious and raging. “When — When Dimitri found out, he —”

“Spit it out,” Lysithea snaps. Sylvain swallows and takes a deep breath before continuing.

“When Dimitri found out,” he forces out as slow as he can, “He — I don’t know how to describe it. Something came out of him.”

Felix screws up his face. “Like what?”

“Fuck, this is hard to explain.” Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. “He got violent. Real violent. He wasn’t the same after that.”

Annette doesn’t know what to say. Thankfully, Felix does.

“What the fuck?”

Okay, maybe he doesn’t.

“Look,” Sylvain says, clearly at the end of his patience, “You saw it first, before any of us. You warned us yourself, Felix. Nobody listened to you, and you were right. I’m asking you to please, _please_ listen to me. Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok! So! Here’s what’s up
> 
> Sorry for the delay between updates after I insisted I wouldn’t do that — not only did I well and truly fuck up the last two chapters and COMPLETELY FORGET TO SET UP A VERY IMPORTANT SCENE THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN THIS CHAPTER, but also my life lit on fire. You know how it is.
> 
> I wasn’t really sure what to do about that, all I knew is I didn’t want to go back and edit those chapters and expect those of you reading chapter-by-chapter to reread if you didn’t want to. It took awhile, but ultimately I decided to restructure the story around that scene just not happening. Not yet, anyway. Yall have always been so patient and understanding with me and I really, really appreciate it!
> 
> I want to mention something: the next two chapters will proceed as normal, and then there’ll be an intermission that I expect to take 1-3 chapters, depending how long I want each chapter to be. I plan to write the intermission in a specific way I’ve never written before so it may take awhile? But also I’ve been experimenting with it for months so I might have a lot more written than I realize? I have no idea. Just a heads up
> 
> [](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	11. The Ritual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some brief body horror

It’s not that Felix doesn’t trust Sylvain. He does. It hasn’t even been a week since Sylvain learned everything Felix knew and more, and Felix knows he can trust him with everything.

It’s that he already doesn’t fucking know what to say to Dimitri on a good day, and now not only does he have to worry about what to say, but he also has to worry about what _not_ to say. He glares at his own hands wrapped around his coffee cup and tries to focus.

“C’mon Fefe,” Glenn teases. He can hear the smirk in his voice. “Let’s talk.”

Felix’s grip tightens. Words cycle in his mind.

“Yes, Felix!” Dimitri adds, voice bright and cheery. “How are classes going?”

Felix almost has the words. He opens his mouth, but they don’t come out. He closes it again.

“Felix, please, I know we’ve grown apart —”

Glenn cuts Dimitri off. “Stop being a baby.”

Felix huffs. “I’m not being a baby,” he grunts.

Dimitri sighs. “No, you’re not being a baby. Glenn, please be kind.”

There’s a pause while Dimitri and Glenn both wait for him to speak. He fails to meet their expectations.

“Fefe,” Glenn says.

“Stop calling me that,” Felix snaps.

“Ugh, fine,” Glenn snaps back, “Be a baby about it, then.”

“Maybe _you’re_ a baby.”

“Uh huh,” Glenn says, voice dry, “Sure I am. I’m the baby.”

“Now, Glenn,” Dimitri cuts in, “You heard Captain Jeralt was hurt in our last battle, correct?”

Felix’s grip relaxes a little. Dimitri’s ability to change the subject may save him for once.

Glenn’s voice turns serious. “Yeah, I heard it was pretty bad. How’s he doing?”

“He’s healing, but it’s going slow.” Felix looks up from his coffee. Dimitri’s frowning, deep in thought. “The metal in the blade was strange. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Yeah,” Felix says in a sudden fit of inspiration.

“Thanks for your input, Fefe,” Glenn says with a devious grin. Felix doesn’t respond. He continues, “That sucks, though. I hope he’s okay.”

“Yes, myself as well.” Dimitri takes a sip of his bright pink strawberry slushie. “Did you know him? Before, you know, everything?”

Felix stares in disbelief. Glenn snorts.

“Dude, you know he disappeared twenty years ago, right?” Glenn says, “I’m barely older than you. Of course I didn’t know him.”

Dimitri blushes bright pink. “Right.”

Felix releases his cup and buries his face in his hands.

“I’ve heard stories, obviously,” Glenn says, “But none of them ended in ‘And Then The Blade Breaker Got Blade Broken’.”

Dimitri sighs. Felix groans.

“I hate you,” Felix says, his voice muffled by his palms. “So much.”

Glenn punches Felix on the shoulder. “I wuv you too, baby Fefe.”

Felix drops his hands and glares at Glenn. Glenn doesn’t give a shit.

“Professor Byleth disappeared with everything though, yeah?” Glenn asks, “Has she come back?”

“No,” Felix says.

“Ah,” Glenn says, “That’s not good.”

Dimitri shakes his head. “It’s infuriating,” he says. Dimitri’s grip around his slushie tightens; the clear plastic is crinkling underneath and the slushie is oozing from the top. “How _dare_ they…”

“Yeah, we know,” Glenn says. “Calm down, dude.”

“They attempted to kill Captain Jeralt.” Dimitri punctuates this with a final squeeze. Slushie flies into the air and lands on the pavement next to him. “What if she’s dead? What if they killed her?”

Glenn reaches across the table and pries Dimitri’s fingers free from their plastic prison. Dimitri stares at his own hand in surprise.

“She’s probably not dead,” Glenn says.

Felix shrugs. “She might be dead.”

Dimitri slams his fists down on the table. The metal top dents. Felix drinks the rest of his coffee in one swallow.

“She’s not dead,” Glenn repeats.

“She’d better not be,” Dimitri murmurs.

Yep. That’s it. “I’m leaving,” Felix says, already half out of his chair.

“Fe, come _on,”_ Glenn snaps back. Felix ignores him. He ignores Dimitri. He ignores his own knowledge echoing around inside his skull overlaid with Sylvain’s warning of _violent. He got violent._

“I can’t deal with his fucking temper,” Felix snaps. He doesn’t bother saying goodbye.

* * *

Felix hides in his dorm room.

This is a mistake.

“And you believe,” Linhardt says, stretching out every word as he stretches out across the dirty dorm floor, “That we’re meant to keep this information to ourselves?”

“Who would you suggest we loop in on this?” Claude asks from his bed.

“We could simply _ask_ Edelgard,” Linhardt says.

“Nope,” “No way,” and “Absolutely _not,”_ are all said at once by Claude, Sylvain, and Lysithea. Annette looks horrified. She crawls up onto Felix’s desk next to Lysithea and pulls her knees into her chest. Felix covers his face with a pillow and groans.

“Do we have to do this _here?”_ Felix shouts into his pillow. He’s ignored.

“So according to Sylvain,” Claude says, “I wasn’t even really involved in all this. I was being a badass and leading the alliance.”

“I’m unsure badass is the correct term,” Linhardt says, “But it was certainly prudent.”

“Right.” A pause before Claude continues. “Where did you say Linhardt was, Sylvain?”

“Marrying Annette,” Sylvain says immediately.

Felix rips the pillow away from his face. Annette is staring at Sylvain, mouth agape, her hold around her legs loosened in shock.

“Wait,” Sylvain says. He looks down. “Fuck.”

“No, I want more juicy gossip!” Claude scrambles to his feet, kicking his sheets everywhere in the process, and grabs Sylvain by the shoulders. “Who does Lysithea marry? _Who?!”_

“U-uh,” Sylvain stutters.

 _“I’m not marrying Linhardt!”_ Annette shrieks. Sylvain and Claude both flinch.

“That was rude,” Linhardt mutters.

 _“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”_ Annette screams.

“DON’T TELL ME WHO I MARRY!” Lysithea shouts over Annette. “I DON’T WANNA KNOW!”

“CAN WE PLEASE NOT SHOUT!” Claude shouts.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!” Felix also shouts.

“IT’S MY ROOM, TOO!”

“If we don’t want the entire floor to know about all this,” Linhardt says, his voice somehow cutting through the noise, “Then we should stop screaming.”

Annette abruptly shuts her mouth. She doesn’t look any less furious. Felix shudders and looks away. A silence stretches between them, charging the air with anxious energy, until Sylvain clears his throat.

“I’m definitely not gonna tell you who Lysithea marries,” he says, looking down at his own feet.

“Yeah, don’t do that,” Claude confirms. He stands on his toes and wraps his arm across Sylvain’s shoulders. “Tell me, though, did it seem like I had _secret knowledge?”_

Sylvain laughs and all the tension leaves him.

“You always had secret knowledge,” he says.

“You’re right, I’m a genius.” Claude scratches his chin. “We should reawaken my memories next, then.”

The thought of Claude knowing even more than he already does fills Felix with dread. “How exactly do you plan to do that?” Felix asks.

“This is an excellent idea,” Linhardt says.

“I bet Mercedes would know how,” Claude says.

 _“No!”_ Annette and Lysithea yell in tandem.

“She’s _super_ in touch with this past life bullshit,” Sylvain says, ignoring their outburst. He gestures toward Felix. “Kinda like you, I guess.”

“Shut up,” Felix snaps back.

“She’ll want to know why,” Lysithea says.

“I think the answer to _why_ is pretty obvious,” Claude says.

“No,” Lysithea glares at Claude and scoots forward on Felix’s desk until her legs are dangling off, not quite reaching the floor. “She’ll ask why and we’ll have to tell her about… you know.”

A pause.

“Ah,” Claude says, frowning.

“Ah,” Sylvain agrees, also frowning.

“Well!” Claude claps his hands together and grins at everyone in the room. “Good thing I have a talent for sneaking around!”

Another pause as this sinks in.

 _“Excuse me?”_ Lysithea asks.

“She uses cards, right?” Claude looks up at the ceiling in thought. “It can’t be too hard. I bet I can use some cards.”

 _“What?!”_ Annette shouts.

“Yeah!” Claude claps his hands together one more time and spins around to walk toward the door. “Come on!”

Felix throws his pillow back down on his bed. Linhardt’s whole body cracks as he stands. Annette, Lysithea, and Sylvain don’t move.

“Right now?!” Lysithea asks in disbelief.

“Yes,” Linhardt answers, “Now let’s go.”

“Ugh,” Felix groans before slowly standing to his feet. He stands in front of Sylvain and crosses his arms. Sylvain looks at him, sees far too much, and sighs.

“I guess we don’t have much choice,” Sylvain mutters.

* * *

The sneaking part is easy; nobody questions the gaggle of college students looking depressed and anxious in a dorm hallway. Getting into Mercedes’s room is easy; Claude is well known for knowing how to slide a credit card between the door and the frame. Finding Mercedes’s cards is even easy; they’re just sitting out on her low round table, inviting them to ask too many questions.

Claude sits cross-legged on the ground at the table and holds up a card depicting an angel with one finger held up over her lips, balanced by the mass of humanoid bodies reaching toward her at the bottom of the card. It’s labeled _Judgement._

“What do you think this means?” Claude asks.

Lysithea begins backing toward the exit. “It’s telling you to stop,” she says.

Claude shrugs and pulls another. This one is labeled _Star_ and, unsurprisingly, depicts an illustrated star.

“It’s weird to pull so many major cards,” Annette says, her voice shaking. She steps back with Lysithea. They grasp each other’s hands. “That can’t mean anything good.”

“Oh, it’s not that uncommon.”

Annette and Lysithea scream. Mercedes stands behind them, smiling serenely, the door still closed behind her. Felix looks around. Where the hell did she come from?!

“What are you doing?” she asks in her gentle, curious manner. Sylvain begins stuttering out an answer, but Claude cuts him off.

“Oh, I just wanna remember my past life,” he says like it’s normal.

“Oh, of course!” Mercedes steps around Annette and Lysithea and sits down at the table across from Claude. Felix scoots back from his position at the table. Sylvain crosses his arms tighter from where he stands leaning against the wall. Linhardt leans in and rests his elbows on the table. “You should have said so in the first place!”

“They should have asked,” Dedue’s voice interrupts as he opens the door and steps inside. To Annette’s and Lysithea’s credit, they don’t scream this time. Dedue steps around the pair, sits on Mercedes’s immaculately made bed, and pulls a white crocheted blanket over his lap.

“Of course!” Claude smacks himself on the forehead and laughs, “I’m a moron! An absolute goon! I didn’t even consider asking.”

“I can see that,” Dedue says.

“Past life regression takes time and effort,” Mercedes says, ending their exchange. “I’ll need time to prepare.”

“I have time,” Claude says.

“Do you?” Sylvain asks, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“Yep!” Claude says.

“Lovely!” Mercedes plucks the card from Claude’s hand and returns it, as well as the other card, back to her deck. “I’ll fetch you when I’m ready.”

“Excellent! Thank you, Mercedes,” Claude grins even wider.

“Oh! And before I forget,” Mercedes sets her deck of cards in a wooden box lined with velvet. “I’m glad to see you’re all taking this so seriously.”

Sylvain shifts on his feet. Felix fiddles with his hands. Claude leans in.

“But I do think you should know…” Mercedes pauses to consider her next words. “Sylvain?”

Sylvain’s head jerks toward her. “Yes?”

“You’ve remembered, correct?”

Sylvain looks back down. “Yes.”

Mercedes hums. “I haven’t remembered, well, _everything,”_ she sighs, “But I’ve dreamt about that village before. Remire.”

A pause. Quietly, Sylvain says, “Yes.”

Fury pulses through Felix. He curls his hands into fists and tries to contain it.

“Do you think everyone will?” Mercedes asks, voice quiet.

Sylvain doesn’t answer.

Claude says, “We’re trying to prevent all that. The more of us that remember…”

Mercedes nods. “And what can be done about the Death Knight? And the Flame Emperor?”

Claude doesn’t answer.

“So you already know,” Lysithea confirms.

Dedue clears his throat and says, “Under absolutely no circumstances are you to share this information with Dimitri.”

“No shit,” Felix snaps. His fists are shaking.

“Dedue is correct,” Mercedes says smoothly, “Don’t share any of this with him. Sylvain already knows.”

“Boy, do I,” Sylvain says to himself.

“Right, so we don’t tell Dimitri and we don’t tell Edelgard,” Claude says, “But I need to remember everything. If I knew something everybody else didn’t…”

“I agree,” Mercedes says. “As I said, I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

“Right,” Claude says. “Thanks.”

Claude and Felix stand to leave, slowly followed by Linhardt. They’re nearly out the door when Mercedes speaks again.

“Oh, Felix?”

Felix turns around and raises an eyebrow. She looks somber.

“Hug your brother,” she says. Felix’s face screws up in confusion.

“What does _that_ mean?” he snaps.

“Right! Okay, we’re leaving now!” Sylvain ushers Felix through the door and shuts it behind them. Then he opens it momentarily to say, “Bye!”

Outside Mercedes’s room, in the dorm hallway, Felix stares Sylvain down. Sylvain rubs the back of his neck and gives a fake laugh.

“Don’t worry about what Mercie says,” he says, voice tight, “Everything’s okay.”

Felix, painfully aware Glenn has never once been present in his dreams, clenches his fists tighter and chokes out, “Did my brother die?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sylvain says, too fast.

“Is that why he —” Felix stops before the tears begin and closes his eyes. A warm hand settles on his shoulder.

“Felix,” Sylvain says softly.

Felix won’t cry. He _won’t._

“Oh, Felix,” Annette wraps her arms around his torso. He clears his throat. It’s tight.

“I fucking swear,” Felix says as evenly as he can, “If he fucking dies…”

“He won’t die,” Annette says, unsure.

“Hopefully,” Claude says. There’s a dull thud and an _ow!_ “Hah, okay, yeah, he won’t die.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Lysithea says. It sounds like she’s speaking through her teeth.

“You’re right, my bad,” Claude says.

 _“Fuck_ you,” Felix grits out.

“You got it.” Claude opens his arms and looks around at everyone and says, “What do you say? Reconvene tomorrow? I bet Mercie will be ready by then.”

Annette shifts back and forth on her feet. “She probably won’t.”

Claude shrugs. “Better to meet too often than not enough.”

“Fine.” Felix doesn’t wait around for more discussion. He’ll hear about it later. He leaves.

* * *

Mercedes shakes her head.

“No,” she says, “It’s not ready yet.”

Claude throws his head back and groans. Felix cringes back against the wall outside Mercedes’s dorm room. Mercedes smiles sweetly and shuts the door in a clear goodbye.

“There’s other stuff we can focus on,” Sylvain says.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Claude sighs. He straightens and immediately slouches. “What next, all-knowing Sylvain Guatier?”

“Um,” Sylvain says eloquently, “Well, after Captain Jeralt was killed —”

“He didn’t even die,” Felix interrupts.

“Well, no, and thank the Gods for that,” Sylvain says, “That was a mess. But no, they didn’t know what to do about the metal. Professor Manuela said it left a weird wound.”

“Wait, wait wait wait,” Annette holds up a hand and takes a deep breath before speaking again, “Professor Manuela? Like..?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Yeah. Sorry, I assumed you knew that.”

“That’s so weird,” Lysithea mutters.

“Do you think she remembers?” Claude asks, perking up.

“No,” Linhardt says through a yawn before closing his eyes again and sleeping against the wall across from Felix.

“That’s not what I mean,” Lysithea says, “I mean, that’s weird, yeah, but they don’t know what to do about the wound now, either. Something about the metal.”

Sylvain looks down. “I wonder what it is…”

Felix scoffs. “You’re telling me we never found out?”

“No,” Sylvain says. He frowns. “We never saw anything like it again.”

“Fascinating,” Linhardt says in his sleep.

“Actually,” Sylvain says, “There’s something, uh, can we talk somewhere else?”

Claude looks up and down the hallway. Felix follows suit. There’s nobody.

“Why can’t we talk here?” Felix asks. Linhardt grunts in agreement.

“No, Sylvain’s right,” Lysithea says, “We should talk over ice cream.”

“Seriously?” Felix scoffs, “Ice cream?”

“Fuck you, ice cream’s great.” Lysithea sticks her tongue out.

“Mature,” Felix says, deadpan.

“You hate everything good,” Lysithea flips her hair, “I don’t care about your opinion.”

“Ice cream sounds great!” Claude says with fake cheer. He takes the lead and waves for everyone else to follow him. Felix rolls his eyes and reluctantly follows.

* * *

Later, at an outdoor table and in possession of ice cream, they speak in low voices while Linhardt takes a nap on the ground.

“When Captain Jeralt died before,” Sylvain explains, “Byleth went mad for revenge.”

“Not surprising,” Claude says, “Continue.”

“She tracked down the killers really fast,” he says, “But it turned out to be a trap. This guy, Solon I think? He did some creepy magic ritual and banished her to another realm.”

“Oh no,” Annette says, mouth full of ice cream, “That’s awful.”

“She came back,” Sylvain continues, “But she had bright green hair and like, a whole new personality. She had emotions.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as this sinks in. Eventually Felix shakes his head.

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” he asks.

“Hey!” Sylvain says, “You try remembering an entire life in five minutes!”

“That’s very strange,” Claude says, ignoring their important conversation.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” Sylvain says, then freezes. Everybody else at the table freezes, too. Linhardt snores.

A passionate argument is taking place around the corner and coming nearer. Felix turns just in time to see Byleth and Seteth come into view, with Byleth showing more emotion than Felix has seen from him before.

“They tried to kill my dad!” Byleth snaps, “I _have_ to fight them.”

“Absolutely _not,”_ Seteth says, voice tight.

“I am _going,”_ Byleth says. Seteth grabs his arm but Byleth shakes him off. “You can try and stop me.”

Dimitri appears from around the same corner, out of breath and gripping his stupid lance. “I must insist, please accept my assistance! We can rid the world of this great evil.”

Felix takes a deep breath. Great.

“Not again,” Sylvain whispers.

“Thank you, Dimitri,” Byleth says, “The enemy isn’t far from here, we can make it in a few minutes if we run.”

“Let us run, then,” Dimitri says. Byleth turns and runs, Dimitri follows. Seteth goes to run after them when he catches sight of Felix and crew. He stops.

“What are you looking at?” he snaps.

Claude stands up and holds his ice cream cone to the sky. “A fight sounds fun!”

“Do we have to?” Linhardt groans from the ground.

“Yeah,” Sylvain sighs. He gestures for everyone to follow after Dimitri and Byleth. “This is it.”

“Absolutely not, no, this is unacceptable!” Seteth cries out as Claude drags Linhardt to his feet. “Stop! I — _wait!”_

They don’t wait. Instead, Seteth follows them to the edge of campus and into the woods. Shouts echo from beyond the trees, the grass underneath is already slick with blood. They hear the sound of Dimitri’s lance piercing an enemy before they see him, panting and covered in blood. Byleth stands across the guy with the forehead, poised for battle.

“Finally,” the weird forehead guy says, “I’ve been waiting centuries. _Centuries.”_ He summons a sigil in the air in front of him and his eyes burn white.

 _“Stop him!”_ Sylvain shouts.

Lysithea, in a fit of desperation, throws what remains of her ice cream cone at the weird guy, but in the end they’re helpless to stop him from completing his ritual. Byleth swings his sword once more. The blade successfully whips through him, but unlike in the village before where he actually bled, his body rips open in a flash of light that immediately erupts into darkness as tendrils explode from his wound and wrap around Byleth’s body. The weird guy fucking _laughs._

“Thank you,” he says, even as his own body disintegrates into nothing and his flesh is torn apart. “Thank you. Thank you.”

The guy is gone. Felix blinks. Byleth is gone, too.

“What the —” Felix begins. He’s cut off by Sylvain.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he groans, “Again?!”

Felix looks him up and down. “You don’t seem very concerned,” he says, voice dry.

Seteth stomps up to Sylvain and pokes him in the chest. “What exactly do you mean by _again?!”_

“Uh, I misspoke,” Sylvain says. He coughs. “My bad.”

“Good going,” Claude mutters from behind Felix.

“You will _explain_ —”

A flash of light. Seteth shuts his big mouth. Everyone turns. Climbing clumsily from a fresh rip in space and time is Byleth, looking much the same and unharmed, his hair as dark as it was before. He stumbles onto the grass, straightens, and looks directly at Seteth.

“Byleth is alive,” Byleth says. Seteth blinks.

“Byleth — your sister?!” he asks.

“Yes,” Byleth nods, “She helped me escape from that place.”

“Why was — _what?”_

Byleth shrugs.

Sylvain points. “Why’s your hair still dark?”

Byleth stares. Seteth gawks.

“Explain yourself,” Seteth says, his eyes locked on Sylvain.

“Oh, uh, I misspoke,” Sylvain says again, “My bad.”

Seteth opens his mouth to argue.

“You know what’s great?” Sylvain says before he has the chance, “Pussy. I just love pussy so much.”

Felix kind of wants to barf, but he can’t deny Sylvain’s strategy was effective; Seteth’s words never come and, after staring at Sylvain for several seconds, he turns back toward Byleth.

“Professor, are you okay?” he asks, shockingly even.

Byleth shrugs.

“Well, um, that’s wonderful.” Seteth clears his throat and eyes the students. “There’s, ah, there’s something else.”

Claude rests his hands on his hips and leans in. “Hmm?”

“What?” Byleth asks.

“You said you saw, ah, your sister in that void?” Seteth asks.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Byleth says.

Seteth, now surrounded by a ring of students, looks around and sighs in defeat. “There may be something in the holy tomb that can help you.”

Byleth cocks his head. “The holy tomb?”

Sylvain’s body tenses up. Felix’s eyes don’t leave Seteth.

“Yes.” Seteth’s back is perfectly straight, his hands relaxed, but there’s an unmistakable tightness in his shoulders. “It would be best to — to proceed with haste. Please gather your strongest students and meet me at the cathedral as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” Byleth says, “Okay.”

“Excellent,” Seteth says. They stand, each waiting to see if the other has more to say, until Seteth gives up and strides away. Byleth looks around at the students present.

“Would you like to meet Seteth at the cathedral?” he asks.

“We need to talk about that,” Sylvain says.

“Okay,” Byleth says, “We can talk over ice cream.”

Sylvain blinks. “What..?”

“The man said ice cream!” Claude claps Sylvain on the back. “Lysithea can replace her tragically destroyed cone.”

Byleth doesn’t say anything; he steps between Claude and Sylvain and makes his way back to campus. He’s far too relaxed for someone who was banished to another realm and saw his missing sister. Felix feels like he’s gonna blow a fuse at any minute. But Byleth doesn’t, and Byleth returns to campus, buys an ice cream cone without a second thought, and takes a seat at an empty table.

“So.” Claude slides into a seat across from Byleth. Lysithea takes a seat next to him, Annette on his other side, and Felix, Sylvain, and Linhardt stand awkwardly behind Claude. “Teach.”

Byleth unflinchingly takes an enormous chomp out of his ice cream. “What?”

“We gotta talk about this shady ritual,” Claude says.

“Shady ritual?” Felix violently flinches at the sound of Dimitri’s voice coming from behind Byleth. He pointedly looks away. Dimitri continues, “Is it particularly shady?”

Claude pauses. The air is charged with tension. Felix carefully eyes Dimitri. Dimitri looks like a confused golden retriever. He doesn’t know what he expected.

Annette breaks the silence.

“Do you have dreams?” she asks.

“No,” Byleth says.

Another pause while that sinks in.

“You don’t _dream?”_ Felix asks, incredulous.

“Nope,” Byleth says.

“Did you ever make a prophecy?” Lysithea asks.

Claude covers his face with his hands.

Byleth considers this question before he answers. “Nope.”

“Pardon,” Dimitri says, “What’s going on?”

“They’re gonna do something weird to you in the holy tomb,” the words spill out of Claude’s mouth as his plan crumbles apart. Felix feels an overwhelming sense of dread.

“Yeah,” Sylvain confirms, “It might not work, but…”

“This is quite the accusation,” Dimitri says, “Where’s your proof?”

“It’s probably fine,” Byleth says before taking another bite out of his ice cream. Felix’s teeth hurt watching him. Byleth continues, “You need to watch less horror movies.”

Claude slams his hands on the table. “Teach —”

“I want to eat my ice cream,” Byleth says. He takes another bite. Felix looks away.

“But —”

“Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my ice cream,” Byleth says.

Claude surrenders. “Just. Don’t go, please.”

“Please,” Sylvain repeats.

“I’m gonna go,” Byleth says, tone final. “I wanna see what happens.”

Dimitri leans over the table. “Why are you so determined to stop this?”

Felix clears his throat. “We can’t tell you,” he says eloquently.

“But I wanna know,” Byleth says.

“But you don’t!” Claude holds his arms out wide and laughs. It’s hollow. “You don’t know anything, and even if we told you, you wouldn’t believe us.”

“Okay, well,” Byleth says, “Then I’m gonna go.”

Claude buries his face in his hands. Sylvain’s shoulders slump. Lysithea slams her face on the table. Annette closes her eyes. Linhardt continues to sleep. Felix freezes.

“You may accompany me,” Byleth says. He shoves the rest of his ice cream cone into his mouth and swallows it. He doesn’t even chew.

Claude doesn’t react. “Fine, we’ll go,” he says, his voice muffled by his hands, “But, uh…”

“Be prepared for a fight,” Sylvain says, face dark.

“I love fights,” Byleth says.

Dimitri leans further over the table. Felix dares to look at him. He doesn’t like what he sees: pure fury, a man barely holding onto his temper, white hot fire raging behind his eyes. Felix swallows.

“What,” Dimitri grits through his teeth, “Do you _know?”_

A pause. Sylvain loudly clears his throat.

 _“Nothingdon’tworryaboutitbye!”_ Sylvain shouts as he grabs the back of Claude’s shirt and Felix’s arm and drags them away with Annette, Lysithea, and Linhardt following behind.

“Smooth,” Claude mutters once they’re out of sight.

“I didn’t see you coming up with a better plan,” Sylvain snaps. He leans against a wall and groans. “Oh, we’re so screwed.”

“We’re not gonna have time for this whole past life thing,” Claude says.

“You _think?!”_ Annette pulls at her hair, her eyes wide.

“I can’t fucking believe he’s doing this.” Sylvain takes a deep breath. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer) // [RT this fic](https://twitter.com/punchyfakegamer/status/1329979409210748936)


	12. Rogue Byleth

“I can’t fucking believe we’re doing this.” Lysithea takes a deep breath. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

“You keep saying the fuck word,” Annette points out.

“That’s hardly our biggest problem right now,” Lysithea says.

“Nope,” Felix says, “Our biggest problem is we’re doing this stupid fucking thing.”

Lysithea and the gang stand fully prepared and outfitted for battle inside the dark, empty cathedral, accompanied by what must be dozens of other students, some she’s never seen before or spoken to. The last of the day’s sunlight streams in through stained glass windows, illuminating the ancient stone floor. Byleth certainly took his time gathering students and making preparations. 

“I hate this,” Claude says.

 _“You_ hate this?!” Sylvain asks.

 _“I_ hate this,” Annette says.

 _“I_ want a nap,” Linhardt yawns.

Lysithea rolls her eyes. “We can’t always get what we want.”

“That’s no way for a woman of your status to talk,” Lorenz says. He’s carefully tying his hair up in preparation for battle. Lysithea isn’t sure why he’s even there.

“I _will_ kill you,” she snaps. 

“Ohoho! He’s right, you know!” Constance approaches Lorenz and leans against him with her elbow on his shoulder, her arm bent at an impossible angle.

Lysithea summons a burst of fire magic into her palm. The flickering orange reflects off Lorenz and Constance’s faces. She narrows her eyes. “Don’t underestimate me,” she says.

“Please,” Dimitri’s voice shatters the building tension, “Can we focus?”

Lysithea extinguishes the fire in her palm and gives Lorenz one last look of warning. Lorenz looks away.

“Thank you,” Dimitri says, “Let us wait patiently, and peacefully, for Professor Byleth to arrive. I’m confident in our abilities.”

Felix rolls his eyes. Lysithea elbows him in the side.

“Now, Felix,” Dimitri continues, “Will you please share why you brought a sword to a cathedral?”

“Fuck off,” Felix snaps back. Dimitri looks unsurprised.

“It’s always good to be prepared,” Dedue answers. Dimitri looks surprised.

“This seems excessive,” Dimitri says, looking at Dedue thoughtfully.

“It’s not,” Mercedes responds.

“It’s definitely not excessive,” El says. Lysithea glances her direction. She’s heavily armed; moreso than Felix, Sylvain, and Claude combined. Axes hang from her belt, from a strap on her back, hammers and hand axes alike. When she shifts on her feet the axes clank against one another.

“Ah,” Dimitri says, “I see.”

“It’s fine, your princeliness,” Claude bows.

A girl with a blue crown braid Lysithea has never spoken to before wraps her arms around herself. “You’re making me very nervous,” she says, voice quiet and soft. Dimitri steps forward, between her and the rest of the group. Sylvain wolf whistles. Dimitri blushes.

Lysithea leans toward Felix. “Who’s that?” she whispers.

“Dunno,” Felix responds at his normal volume.

“Great, thanks,” Lysithea whispers.

Claude turns toward them and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Lysithea jerks her head toward the quiet girl. Realization dawns on his face and he walks over.

“That’s Marianne,” he whispers to both Felix and Lysithea. “You’ve really never met her?”

Felix grunts. Lysithea shrugs.

“She’s nice,” he says. High praise. Before she can ask more Claude suddenly stands up straight at full attention. She turns and sees Byleth, Headmaster Rhea, Seteth, and Seteth’s sister, Flayn, approaching. Flayn waves. Claude waves back.

“Oh, that is lovely!” Flayn claps her hands together, beaming. Her curly green ponytail bounces at the movement. “You have brought so many weapons!”

“Yes! It is always good to be prepared!” Dimitri says, confident. Lysithea rolls her eyes.

“Suck up,” Felix mutters.

“You are correct!” Flayn says.

“Yes, excellent, I believe that’s quite enough small talk,” Seteth says hurriedly. He steps around the crowd of students and, without ceremony, pushes an enormous door open. A cloud of dust floods the air and the scent of mildew overwhelms her. Lysithea doubles over and coughs. A hand rests on her upper back.

“It’ll pass,” El’s familiar voice says, authoritative and calm. “I’ll wait here with you.”

A pang of guilt jolts Lysithea’s stomach. She coughs harder. 

“It’s okay,” El says. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

Lysithea nods to El, unable to say any of the words repeating in her mind. El smiles kindly. She tries to smile back.

“Are you ready?” El asks.

Lysithea nods.

“You’re armed, correct?”

Lysithea nods again.

“I’m relieved to see you’re protecting yourself.” El squeezes Lysithea’s shoulder once and releases her. “I’ll speak with you soon. Let’s go.”

Lysithea and El walk side by side to the doorway, the stench growing stronger with each step. Hubert steps out from the shadows and glances at Lysithea once before refocusing on El. He leans in to share something with El. Lysithea takes the small distraction and jogs ahead to the rest of the group.

They’re already at the bottom of the stairs, fanned out slightly in a large open room. She half jogs toward Sylvain’s bright red hair and looks ahead with bated breath.

Seteth ushers Byleth onto a throne at the far end of the room. Byleth obeys, silent, and he takes a seat on the mossy stone dimly illuminated by a single torch. Seteth and Headmaster Rhea grow tense.

Nothing happens. Sylvain sighs in relief.

Lysithea leans closer to Sylvain and whispers, “What happened before?”

Flayn spins around and grins straight at Lysithea. A feeling of dread seeps into her skin. “Before?” Flayn asks, blinking innocently, “I am so curious! What do you mean before?”

“U-uh,” Sylvain stutters. Lysithea grits her teeth.

“Please tell me what you mean!” Flayn presses.

Sylvain chuckles, hollow and nervous. “You know…”

Flayn tilts her head. “Do I?”

“Sylvain! Lysithea!” Claude calls from behind them. “Can I get your help with — whoa!”

Lysithea sprints to Claude unsuspiciously and grabs his hand, dragging him even further away. Sylvain follows, with Annette and Felix close behind.

“I do _not_ like that,” Claude hisses once they’re out of earshot. Lysithea glances toward Flayn; she’s paying attention to Professor Byleth now. 

“She knows something,” Lysithea hisses back, “They all know something. We _knew_ it! We fucking knew it!”

“We already knew we knew it,” Felix mutters. Lysithea shoves his smartass shoulder.

“She’s not supposed to be here,” Sylvain nods toward El and Hubert and leans in. “Why is she here?”

El and Hubert are standing away from the main crowd, watching in silence as Seteth and Headmaster Rhea prepare whatever they’re preparing. Lysithea swallows.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

Sylvain shakes his head and speaks lower. “Edelgard’s not supposed to be here,” he explains, “She’s supposed to break in and invade as the Flame Emperor —”

At that moment a massive _boom!_ and crash echoes through the chamber. A cloud of dust bowls over them. Lysithea rushes to cover her face, but the dust still invades and burns her lungs and she’s overcome, doubled over, by a violent coughing fit. There’s a smack on her back and a hand on her shoulder that pulls her upright. She squints her eyes open. Felix stands, grim, blurred by tears, looking intently in the direction of the explosion. Lysithea follows his eyes and feels all feeling drain away.

The Other Byleth steps through the smoke, striding effortlessly over the fallen debris, followed by the Death Knight. The low light from the massive hole she created haloes her in a dark, eerie green. She stands tall, proud, and once she’s reached the edge of the debris she pulls out her sword and points it directly at The Other Byleth. Wait. Shit.

Lysithea thinks this is all very confusing.

“Get off that,” Professor Byleth says.

“Okay.” Professor Byleth stands up.

Lysithea hates this.

“Do you know what they just tried to do?” Rogue Byleth, Lysithea decides, says.

“Nope,” Professor Byleth says.

“Don’t trust them,” she spits with venom. “Don’t trust _any_ of them.”

“I beg your pardon?” Seteth laughs weakly in disbelief. Lysithea feels the same. “What are you doing, Byleth? How could you?!”

“Oh, shut _up,”_ Rogue Byleth snaps, “You know what you did.”

Seteth sputters.

“Oh, dear,” Headmaster Rhea rests a dainty hand on her cheek.

Lysithea checks on Flayn. Flayn’s eyes are wide, her mouth opening and closing on unspoken words. She looks from Seteth, to the students, to Professor Byleth, to Rogue Byleth, and finally her eyes settle on El. Lysithea steps closer to Annette. Annette takes her hand in hers and squeezes so hard Lysithea’s concerned her bones may snap.

“Why don’t we explain?” Rogue Byleth suggests. At the same moment dozens of soldiers wreathed in darkness appear around Rogue Byleth, haloed by the same green and fully outfitted for battle.

“Oh no,” Annette whispers.

“Oh no,” Lysithea agrees.

“Those two,” Rogue Byleth moves her sword to point at Seteth and Headmaster Rhea, “Have ruled this continent from the shadows for two _thousand_ years. Their power has waned in the last millennium after the War of Unification, and now they’re trying to get it back.”

 _“WHAT?!”_ Seteth’s voice bounces around the room, ringing pain and desperation in her ears. 

The sound of El clearing her throat grabs the room’s attention. “It’s true,” she says. Lysithea stands, frozen in place, as El and Hubert walk around the crowd of students to stand alongside Rogue Byleth. Lysithea stares in horror where El’s and Rogue Byleth’s hands entwine. “Please. In the fight against tyranny, we stand united. My fellow classmates, join us.”

Lysithea’s legs shake. She glances over; Sylvain’s teeth are gritted together, his hands forming tight fists; Claude is standing still and silent; Dimitri’s brows are furrowed together, and he’s glancing between Rogue Byleth, Professor Byleth, and El. 

“Truly? I have no allies?” El asks. Lysithea’s eyes snap back to her. El’s eyes light up with hope. She steps forward. “Lysithea..?”

Several words get caught in Lysithea’s throat. She chokes on each and every one of them.

El frowns and returns to her previous position. “Just know that my arms are open to you all, always.”

 _“Enough.”_ Rhea’s voice is ice cold, piercing in a violent way Lysithea has never heard before.

“Byleth…” Professor Byleth says, voice soft, pleading.

“Come with us,” Rogue Byleth extends a hand.

“I can’t,” Professor Byleth breathes.

“Why not?” Rogue Byleth asks, sharp and forceful.

“I _can’t,”_ Professor Byleth insists.

 _“You would do this again?!”_ Headmaster Rhea interrupts, _“You would steal_ mine!”

“SHE WAS NEVER YOURS!” El shouts.

“I’LL SHOW YOU NEVER YOURS!” Rhea shouts back. Almost as if shattered by the force of her words, the floor underneath Rogue Byleth’s feet crumbles in a flash of light. The smoke clears near instantaneously; Hubert has both their collars wrapped in the backs of their shirts. El stares in disbelief. Rogue Byleth is fuming.

Then there’s another flash of light.

And then there’s nothing.

They’re gone. Rogue Byleth, the army of shadows, the Death Knight, Hubert.

El.

All gone.

“EXPLAIN THIS!” Dimitri shouts. “NOW!”

Lysithea takes a deep, shuddering breath. Annette’s hand leaves hers and wraps around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. It doesn’t fill the pit of dread in her chest.

She knew all along this would happen, why is it so shocking?

Dully, from the edge of her attention, she can hear an argument. Dimitri is shouting. Felix is also shouting. She buries her face in Annette’s neck.

 _“Get her!”_ Headmaster Rhea. Lysithea wraps her hands in Annette’s t-shirt.

 _“She’s right, you know! There’s something wrong with them!”_ Felix. Lysithea pulls Annette closer to her.

 _“Can we all slow down for five seconds!”_ Claude. Lysithea sniffles.

“She left me behind,” Lysithea whispers into Annette’s neck. “How could she leave me behind?!”

 _“I do love being right,”_ Claude again, _“But there’s a war we need to stop!”_

 _“Oh yeah.”_ Linhardt.

 _“Fuck.”_ Sylvain.

 _“Is there?”_ Flayn. _“Tell me more. Please.”_

 _“Stop!”_ Sylvain.

 _“What happens next?!”_ Claude.

 _“The Imperial army invades.”_ Seteth. Hollow. _“We must begin making preparations.”_

 _“Fascinating.”_ Claude. _“Tell me more.”_

_“Yes, brother! Tell him more!”_

Lysithea has nothing to add. Nothing to say. Annette holds her as close as she can and the rest of her world slips away until all that’s left is a quiet song and the warm scent of vanilla and cinnamon from Annette’s perfume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short update but quick update so i don't feel bad
> 
> now it's time for an intermission!
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	13. INTERMISSION PT 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i warned yall i was doing something i've never done before, i hope it's good lol

Claude leans forward and laces his hands together. Sylvain grins, lopsided and cocky.

“So, Sylvain,” Claude begins.

“Sup?” Sylvain asks.

Claude looks to his left: a shut door, a couple dressers piled high with clothing, several books left open on his mattress. Claude looks to his right: a window covered by curtains, his own desk cleared, Felix’s desk covered in garbage. Satisfied, he looks back at Sylvain.

“How good were you with history in your past life?” he asks.

Sylvain’s face screws up in confusion. “What? Why?”

“Records from before the War of Unification have been all but lost,” Claude explains. He grabs a worn book to his side, closes it, and tosses it to Sylvain. “I wanna know why.”

Possibilities fly past in Sylvain’s eyes. Claude watches, patient, as Sylvain processes his request and builds scenarios and strategies in moments, carefully choosing his words and weighing his options.

“It makes sense they’ve been lost,” Sylvain says after awhile, “It’s been a long time.”

“Right,” Claude confirms, “But it’s easy to find records since then. Seems like a hard cutoff.”

“It does.”

Sylvain taps his fingers on the cover of the book in his hands. Printed several hundred years after the War of Unification, its pages are yellowed and curled and the language is hard to decipher at times. Claude’s spent a lot of time with it.

“What can you tell me about the world before the war?” Claude asks.

“There’s… a lot.” Sylvain sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “A thousand years of history, I mostly researched Faerghus and Sreng, plus a bit about the Alliance.”

Sylvain’s words pull something from deep within the recesses of his mind. “A thousand years?” Claude asks.

“Yeah, I mean, around that. Even then, Faerghus only had about 300 years of history; the entire continent was part of the empire until then.”

Claude grabs a nearby pen and writes a note in the margins of the nearest open book.

“And the Alliance broke off from the empire about fifty years later and joined Faerghus, and broke off from Faerghus and formed their own country about a hundred years after that.” Sylvain pauses while Claude writes this down. “What, uh, what do you wanna know?”

“Everything,” Claude says.

Sylvain snorts. “That’s a lot.”

“I know.” Claude sets his pen down and refocuses his full attention on Sylvain. “Let’s start here, then. How did little baby princeling of Almyra, Khalid, end up living as Claude in the alliance?”

“If I remember right,” Sylvain says, speaking slowly, “The Riegens were all killed off. The Gloucesters were set to inherit the Alliance after your granddad died. Those deaths were played off as accidents, but I dunno, seems like a steep coincidence.”

“All of them?” Claude asks.

“All of them save for your granddad,” Sylvain says. Claude writes this down as well. “Do you think that’s important?”

Claude shrugs. “Dunno. It’s interesting, for sure.”

“What are you thinking?”

Claude looks up to see Sylvain staring him down, trying to read between the lines. He grins.

“There’s more to it,” Claude says, “Don’t you see?”

Sylvain frowns. “See what?”

“Everything’s connected.” Claude points from the book next to him, to the book in Sylvain’s hands, to the other books laid open all over his mattress covered in messy notes. “Why is that?”

Sylvain’s frown deepens. He doesn’t respond.

“Same, bud.”

* * *

White fire shoots from Annette’s palm and up her arm. It burns. She shrieks.

“Careful!” Lysithea scolds.

“I’m sorry!” Annette wipes tears from her eyes with her good hand and tries to ignore the pain in her burned hand. “I’m so sorry!”

A gentle touch guides her to sit down. Annette squints open her eyes just in time to see Lysithea pull out a tin of ointment. She takes her time meticulously spreading it over her burn, soothing the pain as well as her panic. Annette hiccups.

“You can’t go into this battle injured,” Lysithea says, voice low. “Don’t overdo it.”

“I’m sorry,” Annette repeats.

“Apologize to yourself.”

* * *

Mercedes holds a single hand over her deck box and takes a deep breath. A frenetic energy grazes her fingertips, breathes down her neck and threatens to invade her body. A Byleth she’s only met in dreams takes her hand into her own spectral grasp and smiles, kind and knowing.

She exhales.

“You remember this too, correct?” she asks.

A shifting behind her. “Yes,” Dedue responds.

Spectral Byleth doesn’t react.

“Do you think we can change it?” Mercedes asks, trying desperately to read into the past and the future with a divine guidance.

A pause.

“Many things have changed already,” Dedue says, “Perhaps we can change this as well.

Spectral Byleth doesn’t react.

“I’ll do my best,” Mercedes promises.

“Myself, as well,” Dedue says.

Spectral Byleth doesn’t react.

* * *

“So. Lysithea.”

Lysithea jumps and drops the stack of books she was carrying from the library. She swears and spins on her heel. Flayn smiles, her hands laced together in front of her, looking innocent in her curly ponytail and black sweater.

“What the fuck do you want?” Lysithea hisses.

“I was hoping we could speak.”

“About _what?!”_

Flayn’s smile doesn’t waver. “About the website you found.”

Lysithea’s knees and hands begin to shake. She swallows her fear. “How did you know about that?” she asks, sharp.

“Oh, I know so many things,” Flayn says.

Lysithea scowls. “This is _so_ creepy.”

Flayn’s voice drops to a whisper. “Please trust me,” she says, “I want to stop this war as much as you do.”

Lysithea shakes harder. “So you know.”

“Please,” Flayn’s smile drops. She pleads. “Trust me.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Lysithea spits.

Flayn closes her eyes, takes a deep breath in, and when she opens her eyes again her simple smile has returned. “Okay,” she says, “That’s fine. Just please, try and watch Professor Byleth’s back in battle, okay? Saving Professor Byleth is our number one priority.”

Lysithea scoffs. “I intend to save every life I can.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Flayn walks away.

* * *

Training metal on training metal, training sword against training sword. Felix’s hands are numb, his arms aching. Glenn stares him down. Their swords slide against one another.

“I’m not happy you’ll be at this battle,” Glenn grunts out. He pushes against Felix, sending him stumbling backward.

Felix regains his footing. “I’m at war school.”

Glenn rolls his eyes. “I’m not happy about that, either.”

Felix swings. Glenn blocks.

“You’ll get over it,” Felix says.

“Just promise you’ll be okay.”

Glenn twists. Felix swings to block his next attack.

“Yeah, whatever,” Felix says.

“Good.”

Glenn steps back, then forward, and Felix sees his loss before it breaks through a hole in his defense and slaps against his side. A welt raises instantly, red and angry just below the faded white scar from his top surgery years ago. Felix roars. Sparring with Glenn is a waste of his time, he can’t get stronger fighting against someone so far out of his league. He throws his sword down in frustration.

And then he remembers Mercedes telling him to _prize his brother._

He sighs.

“Promise you’ll be okay, too,” he forces out.

Glenn, ever fearless, marches up to him and claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, Fefe. I promise.”

He doesn’t know what possesses him, doesn’t know what happened to his judgement and maturity, but for some fucking reason he leans into Glenn’s touch and wraps his arms around him in return. Glenn freezes and then, almost as if in relief, wraps his arms around Felix in return.

They don’t mention it when they pick up their spar again.

* * *

“Father.”

Jeralt blinks and turns his head toward Byleth. He smiles. It’s weak. This hospital bed has been unkind to him. “What’s up, kiddo?” he asks.

“What’s going on?” Byleth asks.

Jeralt frowns. “What do you mean?”

Byleth takes a moment to align his words. “Some of the students tried to warn me about a prophecy. Then a war started.”

Jeralt hums. “There’s lots of prophecies about war.”

“They said I made the prophecy.”

Jeralt considers this. His heart monitor beeps, steady and consistent, in the background. Byleth tries to ignore it.

“Do you know,” Jeralt begins slowly, “Why I ran from the monastery?”

“No,” Byleth says.

“There’s something wrong with Rhea.”

Now Byleth frowns. “Is there?”

“Just…” Jeralt sighs. He takes Byleth’s hand in his. It’s cold. “Watch your back, yeah? Frankly, I think we’d be better off if she wasn’t around at all.”

* * *

Claude’s mind races with a million half-formed plots and questions and answers, barely out of reach and yet just close enough where he can reach for the frayed ends. His fingers ghost over records and memoirs and mythologies. He’s filled up nearly every book with notes in the margins and highlighted important bits in neon yellow. A flowchart written in ballpoint pen on post-its covers his dorm wall behind him.

It all leads to the same conclusion.

Whatever the hell is going on, it’s planned. It was planned a millennium ago, and it was planned now. The only question is _who?_

He looks over his notes again.

In a past life, his mother disappeared to Almyra and wasn’t really heard from again. News of his birth hadn’t spread in the Alliance, because nobody knew he existed.

The Gloucesters were supposed to inherit the Alliance when the last Riegen fell. He’s not the only one under the impression that family had something to do with the assassinations, but there wasn’t enough suspicion to actually implicate them. It takes a special type of tactician to put that type of plan into motion. Maybe Lorenz was capable of such a thing in a past life, but the Lorenz he knows now is honor-bound to honesty. Would he even have known?

Someone hiding in the shadows orchestrated this, worked either with the Gloucesters away from Lorenz’s eye or not with the Gloucesters at all, simply pushing their plan forward in the dark. It could have been Rhea, but what did Rhea have to gain when she already ran the continent? Who would benefit from leaving Lorenz as heir to the Alliance? Why didn’t they plan for Claude’s return in his past life? Seems foolish to write off an heir because she moved out of the country.

He chews on the end of his pen.

If their goal was to put Lorenz in power, that means it came as a surprise when Claude showed up, otherwise he would have been killed as a child before ever returning to the Alliance. At least, that’s what he would have done.

He was a wild card. He threw their plan off.

Now, in this life, he’s a known entity. Any tactician worth their salt has a plan for how to take him off the board.

Claude glances toward the window. It’s covered. Good.

He has a massive target on his back, and he has to figure out how to stay alive.

* * *

Byleth shifts back and forth on his feet, not quite sure what he’s supposed to do under Rhea’s intense stare. Does he speak? Does he wait? Does he leave? He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Do you know why I called you here?” Rhea asks suddenly.

Byleth shakes his head.

“Do you know why we sat you on that throne?”

Byleth shakes his head.

Rhea frowns. “You truly remember nothing?”

“What am I supposed to remember?” Byleth asks. Rhea sighs.

“You will one day,” she says, though her words are nearly lost to the wind. There’s a pause before she continues. “Do you trust me?”

Byleth thinks of his father’s warning. Byleth thinks of the kind woman standing in front of him who has never shown him ill will. “I don’t know,” he says.

Rhea smiles, soft and sad. “That’s okay.”

Rhea’s feeling, Byleth’s not. He wonders if he’s supposed to be feeling anything, remembering anything, thinking anything.

* * *

_Send._

Dedue leans back in Ashe’s desk chair and stares blankly at his computer monitor. His job is complete, and yet he doesn’t feel any better.

“We’ll make sure nothing happens,” Ashe assures him.

Dedue thinks about his sister back home, working hard on her own life with her own worries. He would want to know about the upcoming battle if he was her. He feels guilty for adding to her stress anyway.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

* * *

Annette sips from her coffee mug. It spills all over her. She doesn’t even feel the burn.

“You’re going to work yourself into the ground,” Ashe chastises, “And then you’ll die in battle.”

“He’s right,” Lysithea scolds.

“It’ll be fine!” Annette’s voice shakes as she speaks. “I just have to be perfect! That’s all!”

“No,” Ashe says. He rips Annette’s coffee from her hands. She whimpers. “You have to take care of yourself.”

“Go to _bed!”_ Lysithea snaps.

Annette slams her hands on the desk in front of her. “They’ll be here any moment!”

“Yes.” Lysithea grabs Annette’s upper arm and drags her from her chair to her bed. “And if you _sleep,_ you’ll be ready!”

Annette fights. She really does, but Lysithea and Ashe are much stronger than they look, and she’s wrapped in her blankets and crushed to death by their bodies until she drifts into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Sylvain finishes writing everything he can remember about the immaculate one on the notepad Claude handed him and tosses it back. He spent the morning recalling everything that happened in the battle, what happened after they retreated to Faerghus, Dimitri’s execution.

What do they even do if none of that lines up with this life?

Sylvain scratches his chin with his pencil. “We need a backup plan,” he says.

“I have those in spades,” Claude responds. The smoothness in his voice is a fragile facade. Sylvain frowns.

“If the monastery falls we can’t just go to Faerghus again,” he mutters, “We’ll be easy targets.”

“Way ahead of you, bud,” Claude says, “If the monastery falls we go to the empire.”

Images of ambushes and Hubert’s destructive magic flood Sylvain’s mind. “What?!”

“Edelgard knows more than she lets on.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes. “Duh. She’s the one invading.”

A pause.

“I don’t know about that,” Claude says, voice low. “There’s something else.”

“There was never anything else,” Sylvain points out.

“There _is,”_ Claude insists. “There’s something else. I need to figure out what it is.”

* * *

Lysithea stares at the unfamiliar librarian sorting out returned books behind the counter. They’re young, brunette, nothing like Tomas. Where did he even _go?_

“Excuse me?” she asks. The librarian pauses her movements. “May I check this out?”

Lysithea sets an ancient illustrated book titled _The Immaculate One_ on the desk. The librarian looks at her, to the book, and back at her.

“You’re not supposed to have that.”

Lysithea groans. “Where’s Tomas?”

“Tomas is no longer employed here.” The librarian returns to her sorting. “I’m his replacement.”

“What? Since when?”

“I was hired a few days ago,” the librarian answers. Lysithea huffs.

“So since you don’t know how things work around here, you wouldn’t know whether I’m allowed to have this,” she says in her best _authority_ voice. It isn’t enough.

“You’re not,” the librarian says, bored.

Lysithea stomps her foot. _“Fine.”_

The librarian doesn’t look up from her sorting in time to see Lysithea walk out of the library, banned book in hand.

* * *

Felix slams a hand down on the desk in front of Sylvain. Sylvain looks up, surprised.

“Tell me what happened to my fucking brother,” Felix says, voice choked.

“Felix!” Sylvain grins. It’s hollow. “I cleaned off your desk!”

_“Tell me.”_ His voice catches in his own throat.

Sylvain abandons the facade. He frowns and says, “Felix. You don’t wanna know.”

He can’t hold back. He closes his eyes for a moment, allows whatever tears he’s not strong enough to conceal to fall, and when he opens his eyes again Sylvain looks wretched.

“Felix,” Sylvain breathes.

“Just,” Felix takes a deep breath, “Tell me.”

Sylvain’s mouth opens, then closes. He wraps his arms around Felix’s waist and pulls him onto his lap. Felix doesn’t bother fighting.

“He died,” Sylvain admits, whispering into his hair. “We were young.”

A pause.

“So we prevented that,” Felix says, voice low.

“I guess so.” Sylvain’s lips press against his temple. “There was no tragedy of Duscur.”

A thousand thoughts grind to a halt at once.

“No what?” Felix asks.

“Oh.”

Felix leans back to watch Sylvain’s face. He’s looking far off and tense.

“There was an assassination,” Sylvain explains, speaking slow, “The people of Duscur were framed for the assassination of the king. Glenn was part of the guard.”

His thoughts start up again at warp speed. His limbs fill with a furious energy. “Why didn’t you mention this?!”

“There’s a _lot_ to mention,” Sylvain mutters.

“Who framed them, then?”

A pause.

“You know,” Sylvain says, “We never found out.”

“And this was just — just _fine?!”_ Felix asks, shocked. Sylvain flinches.

“Don’t shout,” he says, “I — I can’t believe we never found out. Dimitri was dead set on it, too.”

“Of course he was, his father was assassinated?!”

“Yeah.” Sylvain leans his head into Felix’s shoulder. “Then Faerghus led a genocide against the people of Duscur.”

“THEY WHAT?!”

Sylvain doesn’t chastise him for his volume this time. “Wow,” he says, instead, “We really never found out who did that.”

Felix shakes Sylvain off and stands. He looks over Claude’s side of the room, covered in books and post-its and pens and scraps of paper. He growls.

“Where’s Claude?” he snaps, “We have to tell Claude.”

* * *

Claude grins at the young woman in front of him. Flayn grins back, looking quite like she got exactly what she wanted. That’s fine. Claude got what he wanted, too.

“So,” he begins, “What do you know?”

Flayn tilts her head. “Tell me, what do you think I know?”

“I have the strangest suspicion you know everything.”

“Perhaps.”

Claude chuckles. “You were like this before, weren’t you?”

Her grin grows wider. Her canines are sharp. “Oh, yes,” she says, “I’ve always been like this.”

_Check._

“Just tell me one thing, then,” he says, “Do you know everything?”

She shakes her head. “Like you, I do not. But I do have my suspicions.”

Claude gestures for her to continue.

She does not. “What are yours?” she asks.

He can give her this one. “There’s more than just you guys.”

“I agree.”

_Check._

He leans forward on his elbow. “What more do you think there is?”

Flayn leans forward as well. When she speaks it’s a whisper. “Ancient enemies unseen,” she admits, “I have never been successful in finding them. I pray that you will.”

_Checkmate._

“Myself as well.”

* * *

Byleth holds his sword against his forehead, feeling the cool material against his skin. If he holds it close enough he swears he can feel a connection with his sister.

_Fury. Pain. Love._

What the ever loving _hell_ is she doing?

* * *

Mercedes surfaces with a gasp. Sylvain never mentioned how overwhelming his full memories were; she feels saturated, wrung out, and dead all at once. She thought she’d remembered most of her previous life through dreams and tarot, but she didn’t know anything.

The spectral Byleth in front of her nods. She nods back.

Once, long ago, this spectral Byleth appeared in her dreams to tell her her visions would help bring peace to this world, and when all hope seemed lost, to not give up.

All she’s done this life is refuse to give up. She refuses to give up on the goddess, she refuses to give up on her studies, she refuses to give up on peace.

She refuses to give up on Emile.

She prays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to try and keep up updating on wednesdays either weekly or biweekly, depending on how much time i have
> 
> anyway thanks for reading i hope ur having a good day!
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


	14. INTERMISSION PT 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: canon-typical violence, major NPC death. take care!

It all comes so, so fast.

Annette has been in battles before, in this life and she’s sure in her last. They’re chaotic, terrifying, the absolute _worst._ But for all she hates fighting and violence, she hates this specific battle tenfold.

Countless troops, a sea of red, march forward through the abandoned town and over the massive bridge into the university. Annette briefly wonders why they didn’t just blow up the bridge. Then she wonders if she’ll be alive at the end of the day.

There’s a scream, then the roar of each army rushing at one another. Annette readies her magic and prepares to throw spell after spell from the rear.

Then there’s a scream behind her.

Annette spins and the world goes dark. Then it goes light again. She blinks. Lysithea, stationed behind her with Hapi and several other mages she doesn’t know, gawks at something in the sky. Annette looks up and gasps.

“The Immaculate One,” Lysithea breathes, “It was true.”

A writhing shadow, its white scales reflecting the sky so brightly it appears to be haloed, descends onto the battlefield with a deafening roar. It spits magical lightning into the red troops. Uniformed strangers go flying, and when they land they don’t move again.

“Is that Headmaster Rhea?!” Annette shouts. “Is that her monstrous form or whatever?!”

Lysithea readies her magic. “Who else could it be!”

“Look sharp,” Hapi interrupts.

She’s right. Annette takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the battle, but something about the panicked screams leave her more uneasy than before. A quick sweep of the battlefield leaves her disoriented; soldiers in all uniforms are scattering, shouting incoherently. Everything slows down.

“Something’s wrong,” Annette mutters.

A rustling beside her. Hapi leans over the wall to her left. “What?”

“You’re right,” Lysithea says from her right. “What’s going on?”

They all seem to be running from the Immaculate One; Imperial and Monastery troops alike. Flying soldiers are giving her a wide berth. She flails around. Blood slides down her neck, obscuring her ivory hide. A small battalion in Monastery colors approach her and she — she —

Annette swallows. “Did she just… trample our own troops?”

“Oh no,” Hapi breathes.

“She killed them!” Lysithea shouts, voice desperate, “They’re dead! She killed them!”

“Why?!” Annette’s mind races. She can’t help them. She can’t help them.

“Ohhhh no,” Hapi repeats.

“What?!” Lysithea snaps, “If you know something then just say it!”

Annette looks to Hapi, silently pleading for answers. Hapi sighs deeply.

“Do you know much about magical creatures?” she asks. Her voice can barely be heard above the sounds of battle.

“No,” Lysithea responds.

“There’s this thing,” Hapi explains, “It’s only spoken about in legends…”

Hapi trails off. Lysithea groans.

“Are you gonna tell us?” Annette asks.

“Sorry.” Hapi shakes her head. “Wh-when an ancient dragon loses itself, it’s consumed by feral thoughts. That dragon is-is no longer aware.”

“Wait,” Lysithea leans closer. Annette is squished between the two. “What?”

“You said the Immaculate One,” Hapi continues, “Who is that? Who was the dragon disguised as?”

Annette swallows. “Headmaster Rhea.”

Hapi frowns. “Of course. She never showed her ears. She has green hair.”

Annette looks at Lysithea with a raised brow. Hapi gasps.

“Gods,” Hapi whispers, “There’s two more of them…”

“Does that help us now?!” Lysithea shouts. Annette flinches back.

Hapi takes a deep breath and steadies herself. “No,” she says with more confidence, “There’s no saving Headmaster Rhea; she’s gone. We must kill her if we hope to win.”

There’s a screech overhead and Seteth flies in front of them atop his wyvern. Annette can’t make out his desperate pleas, all she can hear is pure pain in his screams. The Immaculate One whips around and her tail knocks several people over the edge of the chasm and tears down an administrative building. His voice goes from pained to tortured.

* * *

Across the battlefield, on the ground not far from where Rhea decimated her own troops, Sylvain sees it happen.

Once again, Byleth falls over the edge. This time, it’s Rhea’s doing.

Seteth dies after him. Imperial Byleth abandons her own fight and races to the edge and shouts for her brother.

Sylvain desperately reaches for his past life, the one where he was raised for killing, where taking a life didn’t raise bile to his throat. It doesn’t work. He feels sick.

It doesn’t matter.

He looks up at the ethereal monster spattered with blood. She has to die. This won’t stop until she dies.

* * *

Claude swears when Byleth falls off the edge of the chasm into nothing.

Claude swears again when something blunt slams into the back of his head.

Later, he won’t remember an unknown voice saying something about a wildcard as he falls. All he’ll remember is black.

* * *

Every few seconds Felix checks over his shoulder for Glenn. He’s always there, just a few short paces away. Felix gets the impression Glenn is looking over him just as well. Even when the beast descends upon the battlefield and kills everything in its path his focus is on Glenn.

Glenn.

Genn must survive. He _has_ to.

From the edge of the battlefield he can see the Imperial army dragging the other Byleth away. She’s kicking and screaming, begging, her voice pained. Edelgard follows. Though she runs her movement looks automatic and hollow. _Good,_ he thinks, _They surrendered. Now if they could just take this fucking monster with them._

But they don’t. Imperial troops flee in flashes of red and more of their own troops die.

“Think fast!” Glenn shouts. Felix hesitates.

“What?!”

Glenn runs ahead and Felix is left behind. Again. _Again?!_ He charges after him.

“What are you doing?!” Felix shouts, his voice raw and desperate.

Other faceless soldiers see Glenn rush forward and follow after him, weapons readied. Glenn raises his lance and pierces through an invisible field around the monster and the air goes static. There’s a crash. The soldiers descend upon the monster and Felix can barely keep up.

The dragon swipes and takes out a wall of troops. It spits sparking magic from its mouth. Glenn appears out of nowhere and tackles Felix out of the way.

“Close call,” he mutters. Felix silently agrees.

“You idiot!” Felix says instead. “Think before you act! What if —”

Later, Felix will regret his last words to his brother.

Glenn’s gone before he can fully register. A flash of white, a dragon’s claw, and Glenn is thrown clear across the courtyard.

Felix’s voice rips his throat raw.

The air is cold, heavy. He scrambles to his feet. His nails get caught on the stone ground and in his desperation two rip back, but he can barely feel them. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t care anymore.

If he can get there in time then he can save Glenn. He doesn’t have to lose him again. He doesn’t.

The monster tries to get a hit on him. He doesn’t even look when he swings his sword in the air. He knows he makes contact. He knows blood cascades around him in a visceral waterfall, coating the ground. He knows Glenn hasn’t moved since he landed in the brush. He knows before he even gets there.

He falls to his knees at Glenn’s side.

He almost looks peaceful. Like he could be sleeping, if it weren’t for the wound on the side of his head freely spilling blood into the dying garden around him. Felix takes his hand. It’s still warm.

“Please,” he begs to nobody, _“Please.”_

From the other side of the battlefield he hears the familiar sound of Dimitri’s scream.

* * *

Mercedes screams, as well.

She raises her hands and prays, wills for the Goddess to hear her pleads and for her magic to reach. It doesn’t. Glenn is dead before he hits the ground.

She failed Felix. She looks around wildly for Emile, for someone she still has a chance to save. She sees him in the distance, retreating from atop his midnight black steed.

“Emile!” she shouts after him. _“Emile!”_

He stops. He turns.

She runs.

A pair of arms wrap around her torso. They don’t quite make it around and instead grasp at her clothing. She fights. She _fights._

“Mercedes, no!” Constance’s familiar voice shouts, “You cannot go now!”

She can. She _can._ She can save him. She can save him.

Constance holds strong. Emile turns back and leaves.

* * *

Rhea falls. He doesn’t see who landed the final blow, all he sees is a sea of blood spreading from where her head lays on the ground. Good. One problem gone.

A flapping of wings to his left. He turns his head and sees Seteth dismount his wyvern, expression empty. Sylvain’s grip around his lance tightens. He stands up tall and approaches.

“Care to be honest yet?” he asks Seteth.

Seteth’s mouth opens and closes. Then, voice quiet, he says, “I failed.”

Sylvain can’t help it. “I noticed.”

“I-I failed.”

Screaming surrounds him. The splash of boots wading through blood. The battlefield _reeks_ of death and destruction, blood and debris. Shadows meet his. Sylvain only has eyes for Seteth.

“I’m so excited to finally get to the bottom of this.” Linhardt, to his right. A small smack.

“People died.” Lysithea, just beyond Linhardt.

“People die all the time,” Linhardt says.

“Stop,” Sylvain snaps.

Linhardt stops.

Seteth says nothing.

“Just fucking tell us the truth,” Lysithea snaps.

“Please.” Annette, from his left.

“I’ve already told you,” Seteth chokes out, “I failed. I failed everyone.”

“Not that.” Annette takes a shaky breath. Sylvain wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her in. For support. She continues, “We know about the prophecy.”

Seteth’s face screws up. His expression flashes to fury before settling back on empty. “How?” he whispers. “How did you know about the..?”

“I told them.”

Flayn. Behind him. Sylvain doesn’t bother turning to look as she walks through the group and stands next to her brother, expression resolute.

“What?” Annette grabs the pack of Sylvain’s jacket and holds tight. “No you didn’t.”

“I did. But first,” Flayn fixes Sylvain with a look. “Go to Felix.”

Sylvain blinks. “Wh — Felix.”

“Go,” she repeats, voice firm, “To Felix.”

“Why —” Sylvain turns and surveys the battlefield. It’s not difficult to find him.

Felix, hunched over something unseen with Dimitri collapsed on the ground next to him. They don’t appear to be talking. His heart sinks.

“Oh,” he says. _Gods._

Rhea doesn’t matter anymore. Seteth doesn’t matter anymore. Annette releases his jacket and he sprints to Felix and falls to his knees. He’s not surprised to find Glenn’s dead body lying motionless in front of them.

He failed, too.

He wraps an arm around Felix’s shoulders, lifts up Dimitri by the collar of his armor, and pulls them both in.

* * *

Flayn wrings her hands together and smiles guiltily.

“You see,” she says, voice wavering and quiet, “I created that website.”

Annette doesn’t understand. She rolls the words over in her mind before saying, eloquently, “What?”

“Website?” Seteth snaps, “What website?!”

Flayn shoots Seteth a glare. “It was foolish to try and keep them in the dark, brother.”

Annette’s mind runs ahead of her before screeching to a complete stop.

“YOU?!” Annette points. “YOU MADE THAT WEBSITE?!”

_“Flayn!”_ Seteth shouts, choked.

“Yes,” Flayn nods, “I am sorry I did not tell you directly. I did my best with what I had.”

“Great! So,” Lysithea crosses her arms and taps her foot, “What else?”

Flayn pauses and looks over the group. “Claude is missing.”

Annette looks to her left, then to her right, then she turns around and checks again. There’s a distinct Claude-shaped hole in their group.

“Where did he go?!” Annette spins back toward Flayn. “He can’t have gotten far, can he?”

Flayn’s smile, apologetic as it is, falls and her face goes dark. “Someone unknown took him,” she says, voice quiet, “I’m sorry. I tried to stop them.”

Claude’s plans, his knowledge, his everything echo around Annette’s mind. The world slows, then spins. She finds she can’t breathe.

“What do we _do?!”_ She shouts. She wishes Sylvain were still there.

“We share the truth,” Flayn says. “I’m unhappy with the circumstances, but… oh, I am oh so pleased to be working together again.”

A new arm wraps around Annette’s shoulders. She leans in. A light floral scent, the scent of Lysithea’s perfume, comforts her.

“So it’s all true,” Lysithea confirms.

“Yes,” Flayn admits, “You are all the reincarnations of the great warriors.”

Seteth seems to remember himself. _“Flayn.”_

“And we have never died.”

_“Flayn!”_

“Never,” Lysithea repeats. Then, awed, “Wow.”

Annette sniffles. Her voice catches in her throat. “A-and Byleth?”

Flayn nods. “Byleth is the reincarnation of the old archbishop, the vessel for the ancient goddess, Sothis.” She looks to Seteth as if asking permission, doesn’t find any, and continues anyway. “We weren’t expecting there to be two until they were each born. We’re unsure what happened.”

Annette decides she hates this even more than she did before.

“So we lost Claude,” Lysithea says, ever collected like Annette could never be, “But I guess we have you guys.”

Seteth scowls. “I guess.”

“Yes.” Flayn sighs. “Shame we lost Rhea, though.”

“I didn’t even know she still had that form,” Seteth mutters.

Flayn shrugs. “I’m not surprised.”

* * *

Claude wakes in darkness.

No, wait, that’s not quite right; a bright, painful green pulses around the edge of his vision in a steady rhythm. Some type of fabric brushes uncomfortably against his eyelashes when he blinks. He’s blindfolded.

He tries to listen and only comes up with a light hum. He feels around only to discover his hands are bound behind his back and his legs are tied together. He knows he’s lying on his side against something hard. He breathes in. It smells like metal, almost like a hospital. Without many other options, he sticks his tongue out and tastes the surface under his left side. It’s disgusting. Why did he do that?

Footsteps grow closer, pass him by, and fade away. Soft. Swift. Sneakers? Barefoot?

He’s not getting far like this. He has to remove his blindfold. He doesn’t want to risk getting caught.

“Hello?” he calls out. They know he’s here. “Anybody there? Where am I?”

He waits. No response. Satisfied, he presses the side of his head where the blindfold wraps around against the floor and begins the slow process of shimmying it off.

Nobody comes. Who runs security at this place? If he was in charge he’d have eyes on himself at all times. But he’s not, and they don’t, so he’s able to force his blindfold off without attracting attention.

He doesn’t get any more answers than he had before.

“Well,” he mutters to himself, “I don’t think we prevented the war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's all for the intermission!
> 
> i may need a couple weeks to fully outline the next few chapters, esp since i'm moving next week and might die? i expect to continue with updates by early january at the latest
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


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